Back To The Old Kingdom
by Wild Blood Rose
Summary: Lirael and Ellimere travel back from the Old Kingdom to find devastation and destruction. Can Lirael re-piece her broken family as well as remove an unwanted and dangerous guest? Can she finally accept her friend's death and learn to love? COMPLETE!
1. Nick and the Mordaut

The sun was high in the sky by the time Lirael, daughter of the Clayr, Abhorsen, and binder of Orannis woke.

Her eyes snapped open, and quickly shut again as sunlight blinded her. She groaned. Too bright. Too much.

She lay there for a while, comfy and warm beneath the linen sheets. They were tangled, twisted and evidence of the bed dreams she had been having. Slowly, she sat up, her black hair falling over one of her eyes. She remembered a time when she would have kept it there, but now was not the time any more, so she tucked it behind her ear and breathed. The room was stuffy but she couldn't tell, being the one who had slept there, and she was too comfy to open the window herself.

Fortunately, Ellimere was happy to do this of her, and in she came, her robes swishing gently. 'Morning!' she said brightly, opening the windows. The sun shone in ever brighter and fresh air gushed in, cool and crisp.

Lirael mumbled something and Ellimere laughed.

'Get up, lazy! You're as bad as Sam!'

'Yes I am,' Lirael agreed with her niece. The niece who was her own age. She turned over, 'Please leave me alone, Ellie.'

Ellimere laughed again. 'Never!' she declared, 'We're crossing the wall today, back to the Old Kingdom!'

'That's nice.' Lirael mumbled into her pillow. 'Be with you in a couple of hours.'

'Come on!' Ellimere insisted, 'Mother needs your help, Lirael!'

Lirael stretched, a long sighing stretch and pushed her hair out of her eyes. 'I know.' She sighed.

Reaching over to her dressing table, her fingers found the material she was looking for. It was a golden glove, Charter marks swam on it's surface, and Lirael slipped the glove onto her right wrist. There was no hand there now, merely a stump that itched now and then. Orannis had claimed that hand. Ellimere stopped pressing Lirael to get up at the sight of the glove.

It had been made by Sameth, Lirael's nephew and Ellimere's brother. He was a wallmaker: a sort of inventor, very skilled in making both magical and non-magical objects.

Lirael herself had been doubtful when he had handed it to her, but as she slipped the glove on, it shivered and bulged, as if a hand were suddenly growing inside it, the fabric glittered and Lirael gazed at a now fully operational false hand.

Now that it was done, Ellimere felt she could now press her aunt once more.

'Up?' she pleaded.

'Alright.' Lirael said, smiling. She did want to get up, really, and she had been missing her sister, Sabriel, the Abhorsen. She had missed her sister's company while fighting off stray dead that had somehow managed to struggle into Ancelistierre, but that was done now, and Ellimere, heir to the throne of the Old Kingdom had been settling feud between two Lords fro the Old Kingdom. Both had finished what they set out to do and both were ready to go back home. It had been a year since Orannis was bound anew, and Lirael had found her true family at last, a family that adored her and one that she loved, most of all Sam.

            Her happiness had been doused a lot by the responsibilities of being the Abhorsen. There had once been only one, and in truth Sabriel was still that one, but Lirael had grown used to binding the dead, and it was now a responsibility she took solemnly. But not without drawbacks.

Even now, a year later the dull hole where her first true friend The Disreputable Dog had been was far from healed.

            Lirael knew that the hole would never fully heal at all. It would remain a scar, like a tattoo it would stay with her forever. Her hope only stretched to that, one day she too would pass beyond the ninth gate like her dear friend and they would be united there together once more.

            As Lirael came out of the hotel she and Ellimere had been staying, she found that two horses had been saddled for them both, and she smiled, remembering that time barely six months ago when Sameth had insisted on teaching her how to ride. She had accepted his offer graciously, and much bucking and falling off later, she had mastered it. That time seemed so far away. Was it really a year since The Disreputable Dog had gone?

Lirael shook herself. Not the time.

Sighing, she swung her bandoleer onto her chest and buckled the straps. It was only then that she noticed that she was not alone, and that something, a spirit of the greater dead was closing in. Lirael cursed, her hand gripping each of the bell handles in turn, finding Astrael first. After all, it was her bell.

Instead of the weeper, however, Lirael's hand(s) found Kibeth and Saraneth, bells of The Dog and Sabriel.

'Lirael?' Ellimere called, emerging from inside the foyer of the hotel, 'Lirael? What's going on?'

Lirael turned to her niece, her eyes wide. 'Dead.' She whispered. 'Get inside, Ellie, it's coming fast.'

Ellimere bit her lip. 'Shouldn't we run?'

Lirael's eyes looked puzzled, her mind reached out. Was this spirit after her? What was it? Mordicant?

Perhaps Ellimere was right, perhaps staying there would only lead the dead creature to the hotel full of innocents. 'Ok.' She said, pushing Kibeth back into it's pouch, but keeping a hold of Saraneth. Swinging herself up into the saddle, she beckoned to Ellimere who swung up nimbly onto the horse beside her.

'Go,' Lirael ordered, 'I'll follow, but I want us to distract it, in case it senses the Life in the village.'

'What if it's after you?' Ellimere said, panic clearly showing up in her voice. 'Won't that give it away our position?'

'I'll risk it.' Lirael muttered, 'Now get out of here!'

Ellimere was shaking her head, smiling, 'You are too much like Sam.'

She whirled her horse around and galloped away, shouting, 'Come Quickly, Lirael!'

Lirael smiled. She would give the dead something to follow

Lirael pushed her horse into a trot, she could still hear Ellimere, cantering off fast, her direction unseen through the thick trees that masked the road. As her horse took the first step onto the road, the sense of the dead suddenly became overpowering. She took in a sharp breath and gripped Saraneth's handle fast, holding it steady so it did not sound.

            The dead thing was just beyond her vision, but she kept her sight focused on a apple tree just on the edge of the road where the sense of the dead was most strong.

            She took a grip on Saraneth and rang it, hard, thinking, _out from behind the tree, OUT._

Oh, for the Disreputable Dog at moments such as these. Pushing this dreary thought away, Lirael called again, encoding her will to the sound of the bell. She was suddenly all too aware that perhaps she knew this dead thing. Had she met it before?

She let the bell's sound fade away, and was about to take out Kibeth when the sound of footsteps from behind the tree met her ears and she watched intently, her eyes sharp and wide.

The dead thing stumbled out. But it wasn't dead. The man's head was covered in thick brown hair, and his eyes were sleepy, his chin was covered in stubble, and his eyes found Lirael's as he tottered forward, half dragging himself out from behind the tree, clinging to the bark as means of support.

'Nick!' Lirael cried, jumping swiftly off her horse and running forward to help him forward. Her head was buzzing. But she had sensed dead, and Nick, most certainly was not dead, though he looked pale and was sweating badly. Gingerly, Lirael reached out to touch his charter mark. She had no idea how he had got it, or how he was alive now, but for some reason, the destruction of Orannis meant the re-awakening of Nick – a Nick that somehow bore a charter mark on his forehead –sign of the charter mage.

As she touched his mark, expecting to feel the never-ending charter in her fingers, she instead felt the stunted, parasitic growth of something that most definitely was not supposed to be there, and there was still that creeping, sinister feel of the dead nearby. 

            And then a light flicked on inside her head, a light that particularly cast a beam on a certain page from _The Book Of The Dead. _A page, that illuminated the existence of the parasitic _Mordaut_. Quite apart from _The Book Of The Dead_'s advice on how to deal with such dead things, Lirael recalled a story Sabriel had told her about her own encounter with one, and Lirael remembered that primarily, she must not alarm the Mordaut, lest it suck its host dry of life.

'Hang on Nick,' Lirael said, trying to keep her voice steady, 'You just wait there, and I'll just get a blanket – you look quite cold.'

Nick did not appear to hear, and Lirael turned her back on him, walking up to her horse and making a show of trying to pull a blanket free out of one of the saddle bags, secretly drawing Ranna, and holding it still to her breast.

            She knew the will of Saraneth was gone, as she heard Nick get up, his breaths shallow. The Mordaut had clearly decided to try and infest her in place of Nick, and if she didn't act quickly The Mordaut would consume its current host before it moved on to her. That was something she could not let happen.

            Holding Ranna still, she tried to make it look like she was only just getting to blanket to come free, before the Mordaut came at her.

Lirael whirled around, her black hair flipping around to cast her face into dangerous shadow. As the Mordaut leapt, Lirael rang Ranna. Nick froze as he heard it, and the Mordaut with him.

Ranna's sweet peals blossomed into the air, an intoxicatingly relaxing tune.

Nick stumbled and fell, his eyes fell shut and the air became filled with his deep breaths.

Lirael wasted no time, falling to her knees, she turned him on his front and lifted up his shirt, so that she could see his back.

There it was, like a spider, its rotten legs sinking into Nick's flesh, its main body resting in a lumpy mass at the base of his spine, brown and rotten.

Lirael fumbled with her bell straps, drew Saraneth and rang it hard, making sure its call held the Mordaut still.

It was not going anywhere, but she took no chances.

Pushing Saraneth back into it's pouch, she re-drew Kibeth, and swung it above her head, letting the jig reign above Nick's body.

The Mordaut woke, but its will was bound to the walker, and it was pulled away from the warm life it infested, but could not consume him, being bound.

Lirael smiled with relief as she heard the jolly sounds of the walker, nowadays she recognized it as the echo of the Dog, and it was comforting to hear it as it marched dead thing back to where they were supposed to be.

It was gone in minutes, leaving Nick limp and stunned. Lirael lifted hi gently onto her lap, and his eyes, dizzy and unfocused recognized her.

'Lirael!' he whispered. 'Lirael!'

'Its alright, Nick.' Lirael soothed, 'I'm here. Come, can you stand?'

But Nick would not. Instead he took a grasp on Lirael's hand. It was an unusually strong grip and it alarmed her.

'What is it, Nick? What's wrong?'

'You…' his voice was distant, faraway. 'You must… g…get back… across the wall.' He croaked. 'We must get there. Is… Ellimere?'

'Yes,' Lirael re-assured him, 'Ellimere is safe. Please, Nick, I need you to be strong. Can you walk?'

She was frightened by the urgency in his voice, and she was overcome with the will to comply to his wishes. Yes, they must get back across the wall.

'Be strong, Nick,' Lirael whispered, placing her hand on his chest and calling charter marks for strength and energy. They sank into him and his gaze grew stronger.

Shakily, Lirael helped him up onto her horse, and leaped up Nimbly behind him.

'On, Heai,' she urged her horse, 'Onto Ellimere.'

            When they found Lirael's niece, she looked rather relieved to see her aunt alive, and shocked to see Nicholas. 'How did he get here?' she demanded.

'No idea,' Lirael replied, sensing that they must move on, 'But we've got to get going, Ellie, its seemed pretty urgent to Nick that we get across the wall.'

'Alright.' Ellimere agreed, her face set determinedly, and Lirael smiled as she saw Touchstone's preparation for battle manner in her niece.

'Lets Go.'


	2. A Paperwing

They reached the wall back into the Old Kingdom in less than three hours – a record in Lirael's opinion, although she wished she hadn't made Heai gallop so fast – it had made her thighs ache horribly and she winced as she called a halt to her horse. Nick was still feeling woozy, he told her, but he had recovered considerably and was doing his best not to show how the Mordaut had affected him. His limbs were weak and clumsy, and it had led to more hard work on Lirael's account to keep him on Heai's back as well as push her horse into a flat out gallop. The poor horse's flanks were heaving, and Lirael clambered down from her back, whispering soothing noises to her and placing charter marks for calm and revival on the horse's shining forehead.

'Sorry, girl,' Lirael said, smiling sadly. We'll get you some water once we're in the Old Kingdom, I promise.'

Heai grunted, a clear sign that she'd better. Lirael looked across at Ellimere, whose curly, almost black hair was standing on end. It was true she looked a little ruffled, but otherwise fine.

'Nick,' Ellimere panted, 'what on earth is so urgent that we had to get back _that _fast?'

'Sorry,' Nick mumbled, but did not answer Ellimere's question.

Ellimere looked at him expectantly, and then sighed as the answer she wanted never came.

'I'm not sure myself, Ellie.' Lirael admitted, wondering what would be the best way to get back into The Old Kingdom. Her mind cast wistfully back to when she had made the giant owl charter skin: but they had not had horses then, and Lirael sensed that there was a very serious reason why it was urgent to get back into the Old Kingdom.

            Fortunately, Ellimere and Lirael did not have to tarry long to deliberate the best way to get back across after all, Sergeant Berk, a newly estated Sergeant recognised Lirael by her hair and called the through. Of course, he knew all about Lirael, and her legendary binding, not to mention being the sister of the Abhorsen, and being something of an Abhorsen herself.

            Berk had twice cornered Lirael, and both occasions had been rather embarrassing. He was a forthcoming, rather confusing man, but his awe of Lirael was un-ending and he never ceased to shower her with compliments and praise, which Lirael had shrugged off gruffly. She had not noticed, her life having been practically devoid of men in her years as a daughter of the Clayr, but it was evident to most the nature of Berk's interest – romance. Lirael had snorted at this when Sam had informed her, but as her mind grew used to the idea she realised this might be true.  

            Despite the embarrassing nature of Berk's interest in her, Lirael was a little glad to see him: particularly as he was the keeper of a Paperwing.

            The craft itself was Sabriel's – she had left it with the Sergeant a month or two ago, with an explanation that she was sure one of her family would need it soon- and Lirael was thankful for it.

            'Sergeant Berk!' Lirael pushed a look of pleasant surprise onto her face as the round-faced man approached, beaming, his arm's open in a welcome gesture.

Lirael shot Ellimere a filthy look as her niece snorted, but turned, keeping her face friendly, back to the Sergeant.

'Milady,' Berk smiled, bowing low.

Lirael nodded awkwardly in reply.

'…And Princess Ellimere!' The Sergeant turned quickly to Ellimere and gave a slightly less grand bow, which Ellimere returned, hiding her look of amusement. 

'How can I help you on this fine day?'

Lirael looked about her, confused. The sky was grey and the air a little chilly, but as she looked past the wall, she saw the sun was shining brightly in the Old Kingdom.

'We need the Paperwing, Sergeant Berk,' said Lirael politely, as they made there way through a narrow archway that left Ancelstierre behind.

'My friend Nick here-' Lirael gestured to the lopsided Nick on Heai.

'Nick says there's trouble here in the Old Kingdom – trouble that perhaps we do not want to get tangled in. I'm afraid I can't say where or what – I don't think Nick's recovered from the Mordaut enough.'

'At…At… The P…P…Palace.' Nick wheezed, his breath hard with the taughtness that was coming from inside his ribcage. Evidently he could say no more as he suddenly fell forward onto the neck of Heai.

Ellimere's face suddenly changed from one of amusement to one of deadly seriousness.

Berk stroked his chin, 'I'm sure I could let you have the Paperwing Lirael – but where do you intend to put the horses?'

Lirael's hand began to twist with nervousness.

'Yes, I thought that would be a problem. But… I thought…' Lirael began to think on her feet here. If it was true that he was interested in her – then surely helping her would seem like a profitable thing to do for him?

'I thought,' Lirael continued, more confidently, her eye wondering over him casually, 'That perhaps you – of course, you don't have to, but… I thought that you… being the big, strong Sergeant that you are would be so helpful as to look after them for a while?'

The Sergeant's face was twitching and nervously, Lirael put in, 'Only for a while of course…'

'Of course!' the Sergeant burst, his face splitting into a wide-eyed smile, 'I mean, of course, I'd love to… 'd be delighted, naturally… honoured.'

'Thank you,' Lirael smiled in relief, and made a mental note not to smile too much again as this seem to positively make the man's day.

'-very much.' Put in Ellimere. 'I'm sorry to hurry you along Sir, but we really need that Paperwing…'

'Of course!' The Sergeant said again, jumping up enthusiastically, 'This way, follow me…'

            Lirael was relieved to see the yellow-eyed Paperwing, and it looked up at her seemingly innocently as Ellimere climbed in quickly. Lirael took longer, as she helped Nick off Heai first, and settled him in, next to Ellimere, who looked rather put-out at being squashed next to him.

'Hurry, Lirael!' she said briskly, 'You heard what Nick said! Whatever danger the Old Kingdom's in, it's at The Palace, and…'

'I know Ellie,' Lirael cut across, sighing at Ellimere's now persistent desire to return home to the Palace. It was not hers, as such, her father, Touchstone being King there, but Ellimere was a born-queen, and, as such was heir to the throne. She was also quite the control freak, and, as much as Lirael loved her niece, it became tiresome at times.

'Thank-you.' She smiled at Berk, who beamed back in return.

'Of course! Anything for the great Lirael! The binder… the Abhorsen, the…'

'Thank you!' Lirael interrupted quickly, 'Its very good of you.'

She turned to Heai, and patted her nose fondly. 'See you soon, my dear.' She said, and clambered into the Paperwing.

Its eyes snapped out from its look of laziness to one of confidence.

Lirael watched the Charter Marks swim on the windscreen before her, before she pursed her wet lips and whistled hard. The Paperwing gave a great lurch and sped into the air, suddenly soaring over woodland, rivers, lakes and grassland.

'Home?' Lirael called to the passengers in the back.

'Home.' Came Ellimere's reply.

'Right,' Lirael said, swerving the plane right into the light of the pale sun.

'Home!' she yelled, and whistled a clear, pure note. The Paperwing heard and off it took, plunging the three into further darkness than they knew.

     Off they go! What will happen next you ask? I will add the next chapter soon so keep checking back!


	3. Back to the Palace

Lirael turned quickly in her seat in the paperwing. Her thick black hair was caught up by the wind and whipped about into her face, and she pushed it away firmly, squinting behind her so she could see the tail of her craft.

'What is it?' Ellimere looked concerned. 'Something dead?'

'No,' Lirael lied, not wanting to panic her niece. At least, it wasn't entirely a lie. She wasn't sure if she had seen a gore crow circling behind them, and felt sick just thinking about the foul little creature.

            A gore crow alone was no real threat to her but many were a danger Lirael was not prepared to face, especially as, at the present time it seemed most urgent to return to the palace and presumably her sister's aid. She squinted through her hair and frowned. There was nothing there now. Perhaps she had imagined it only, or else the sun's dying rays and the hard, charter-mark driven wind had stripped it's scrawny body of feathers and flesh.

She hoped she had imagined it, but Abhorsens were not ones to take chances. Drawing Kibeth, she handed the bell to her niece and requested that she ring it.

'I can't!' protested Ellimere, 'I'm not an Abhorsen!'

Lirael laughed, 'You're a charter-mage, Ellie,' she replied, 'and half Abhorsen – like me! Trust me, Kibeth will respond to you.'

Ellimere looked doubtful. She was holding the pendulum inside the bell, silencing it. 'I don't like it!' she argued, 'Its shivering in my hand. It doesn't trust me.'

'It just doesn't know you,' Lirael pointed out, exasperatedly, 'Please, Ellie, just ring it.'

_Don't do this now, Dog_, she thought silently, _Give her a chance: she's not Abhorsen but she can do it. _

Instantly the bell stilled in Ellimere's hand, and hesitantly, Ellimere lifted it and swung it above her head enthusiastically: quite a chore with the sleeping Nick on her shoulder. She managed it, however, and, as Lirael had suspected, there was a loud harsh squawk behind them, before the Gore Crow's flimsy spirit was frogmarched firmly back to where it belonged.

Ellimere held the bell in her lap silently, and watched her aunt pilot the jet with apparent ease. Ellie knew better. Lirael was no fan of heights, but as Abhorsen she needed the Paperwing to get around easily. While she was in Ancelstierre she enjoyed the cars easy trundle, knowing the safety of ground was close. Here, where technology was banished in place of magic, things were quite different. Ellimere was very fond of her aunt, and loved her dearly, but she could not get over how impractical she was sometimes.

            Last she had suggested this to Sam, he had become quite offended and reminded her that it was Lirael who bound Orannis, not to mention the bravery Lirael was charged with. She had already become Sabriel's equal in banishing the dead, but was still in awe of her sister's wide-spread knowledge. As Ellimere mused upon this, Lirael suddenly shouted, 'Look! There! The palace.'

Ellimere craned over the side of the paperwing and saw that her aunt was quite right, and she leaned over the seat and kissed her on the cheek.

'Well done, Lirael,' she smiled, hugging her tightly around the neck.

'Thank you,' Lirael replied warmly but a little awkwardly, still unused to such charged affection, after years of reclusive behaviour back when she had believed herself a Clayr.

She was still a 'daughter of the clayr', but Ellimere wasn't really sure this was sufficient enough affection toward her courageous aunt. Still, she was pleased to be home.

            Lirael looked over the side of the paperwing too, and was suspicious as to why there was heavy silence upon the palace. She gave a low, steady whistle to bring the aircraft steadily lower and they circled above the palace, finally landing on the square lawn around the far back.

            She clambered out gratefully, glad to be back on the ground, but did not forget to pat the paperwing fondly as she did. Ellimere climbed out after her, and, after handing her back Kibeth, they worked together to support Nick back up to the gate.

'There's something wrong,' Ellimere said slowly, and they heaved Nick up the lawn, voicing what Lirael had suspected, but wasn't sure whether to voice.

'You're right,' Lirael agreed, 'I fear that perhaps something dreadful has happened here.' Her mind swiftly thought of the Dog, but she banished this quickly form her mind, reminding herself that, again, this was not the time.

'I wonder if Yrael is about.' She wondered.

'Mogget?' Ellimere said disdainfully, not masking her less than friendly feelings towards the white cat. 'I should think he's back at Abhorsen's house… I…. Oh Lirael… look!'

HhHAhahaah, yes I know its very cruel of me to leave you like that. Ah well. Readers can't choosers and I promise I will update… this could get very exciting.

Wild Blood Rose XX      


	4. Lynched

Lirael turned and looked. Her stomach roiled and she coughed hard. 'Touchstone!' she gasped, her eyes filling with fear.

'Father!' Ellimere choked, her black eyes wide.

Touchstone was hanging from a tree by his neck. A loose knot of rope that was tied off at the root.

            His head was lolling motionless on his chest; his arms limp at his sides, his dark curly head limp and frail. Lirael's eyes filled with tears, just as Ellimere let out a harsh resounding sob. Forgetting that she was carrying Nick, Lirael stumbled forward and untied the knot that lynched him in the skeletal arms of the tree. It was whispering softly, and Lirael found her senses casting around for a creature of free magic or the dead. Whatever signs of the culprit were gone, indicating the dead rather than free magic.

Hot tears wound there way in sombre trails down her pale cheeks and she tried to clear her sight, snapping through the rope that bound Touchstone.

            As gently as she could, she lowered his body to the ground, her silky black hair falling over her face to disguise that it was wet and red.

            Ellimere had collapsed on the grass, her head buried in her hands, black curls sliding in between her fingers. Nick lay next to her, his eyes staring blankly into the grey sky. Lirael gently reached forward and slipped the noose from his head, feeling his neck.

What if… his neck was not broken she realised, but the rope had choked him so that the skin on his throat was red, and his windpipe was crushed. Lirael paused, her hands ready to trace the marks of cremation over his body, and then stopped. No. This was her sister's duty, if anyone's.

What if she could heal the body? _Please, _she begged. _Please let me heal him. _

Thinking hard, she tried a charter mark for inflation and traced it over Touchstone's prominent Adam's apple. With delight, she felt the windpipe rise steadily, inflating well. Once normal, she checked for bleeding and found many harsh cuts along the inside. Not ready to give up, she determinedly sent healing charter marks down there, and prayed for them to heal fast. The longer Touchstone's spirit wandered through death, the less likely it would be that he would be able to return, and she prayed with all her might that it would.

Her eyes were still flowing freely, and she pushed them back forcefully, biting her lip hard to bring herself back into rational thinking.

            As she did, her senses detected a very familiar aura in the up stairs of the palace, though it wasn't moving and the sense that it was somehow frozen was overpowering.

Sabriel was in death, her body up stairs.

Good, at least maybe she could stop Touchstone from going far. Unless of course it was his time. Sabriel, of all people knew when it was time for death and when she had to let go of people. As the Abhorsen he knew it was silly to keep hold of such things, because like sand they slid through your fingers. But Lirael knew that Sabriel loved Touchstone more than anything in the world, save her children. At what lengths would her sister go to bring her husband and lover back?

Lirael couldn't, shouldn't stay to find out.

Quickly, she cast charter marks of protection over Touchstone's body. –that was just what she needed – a greedy member of the dead finding his body and taking out for their own.

'Ellie?' she called, her voice stronger now that there was hope. Not much, but a little.

Her niece looked up, face red and raw from crying.

'I've healed his body as much as I can, El, it's the best I can do. I'm not sure how far he's gone… I…' she paused to keep her voice steady. 'Your mother's upstairs,' she whispered, but her spirits in death, no doubt keeping him from… but anyway, you should bring her down, make sure no one touches them. I can't find Sameth, but he's got to be here somewhere and...'

Ellimere nodded to stem Lirael's half-hearted words of comfort. Lirael didn't know how to give sympathy. She had never had to before now, and now that she needed to she wished desperately that it wasn't so.

'Here,' Lirael said, handing her Kibeth again. 'Just in case.'

'In case of what?' Ellimere mumbled, her eyes round and wide, tears still leaking down her face.

Lirael didn't need to say it, Ellimere knew, really.

She hugged her niece hard, who hugged her back, numbly. 'Be safe, dear.' Lirael whispered, kissing her on the cheek.

'And you.' Ellimere whispered inaudibly.

With that, Lirael turned from her and plunged into death, hoping that it wasn't too late.

Ellimere watched as frost formed on her aunt's face, hands and body, icicles began to cling to her hair.

This isn't real  she thought. 

Aww that SADNESS. Sorry my lovelies but you'll find out if Lirael managed to save the day in time later…

Wild Blood Rose X


	5. Death Again

Lirael didn't expect the strength of the current, and it took her hard so that as she emerged in death, she wobbled precariously and stood, wavering as she steadied herself.

She managed to stand, and looked up to find, in horror the state of the first precinct.

The current was swirling hard, a great surge of grey water whose current had become unnaturally rough and unpredictable – even for waters of death.

Lirael pushed her hair roughly away from her face, unsheathed her sword a little from it's scabbard, and quickly took Saraneth from its pouch strapped across her chest. The current was gathering motion, and should, most certainly not be this strong. As she watched a dead spirit who was trying to struggle upstream on spindly legs. The current was clearly taking its toll on it, but just to be sure, Lirael wet her lips and let out a shrill, loud note that sent the dead spirit tumbling past the first gate, head over heels, screaming wildly.

            As she took her first step, the current tugged harder, and she found it deeper – reaching her thighs.

'I am the Abhorsen!' she declared to death, in a loud clear voice, slightly infused with the charter.

'I shall walk in death freely! It is my right!'

Hesitantly, the current faltered a little, and the depth shrank gradually around her ankles, where it should be.

Satisfied, Lirael waded on. _Something is very wrong_, she thought as the approached the first gate with no precautions. There was no time for such luxuries.

Striding to the wall of mist that separated her from the second precinct, Lirael plunged into her mind and the words of free magic spilled from her mouth in  a wave of spitting sparks and heat, making her mouth feel as though she had eaten raw chilli peppers.

There was no hesitation as she strode through the parted mists, however.

            What met them on the other side was a series of waterfalls – all dropping merciless fathoms below her.

            Unsheathing her sword, Lirael indicated to the path that she wanted to travel by, and spoke yet more free-magic words to scorch her mouth and throat. The waterfall parted, like the mists to let her through, and she ran on.

Coming to the Second precinct, she stopped suddenly, remembering the false safety that the second precinct lured the unwary charter mage to.

            Vaguely, she recalled the first time she had walked here, and how, without the Disreputable Dog, her haste would have meant her own destruction, and the world as she knew it.

            However, she was in no hurry now, and gently she probed gingerly at the water, making sure there was definitely solid under her feet where she turned, counting her steps and remembering carefully to stop at ten, as she had once not done before. Not so careless now.

Once at ten, Lirael stopped, and looked up to find herself gazing down at the Second Gate.

It made her feel dizzy and slightly ill to watch it: a large, gaping hole that was covered only by swirling whirlpool, a large, merciless swirl of black water that promised no returns once a careless mage stepped into it.

Taking a deep steadying breath, Lirael spoke the free magic words that would turn the whirlpool into a creepy winding staircase, leading down to the third precinct: one of Lirael's least favourite.

As she descended the stairs, she gathered her strength for the run she was about to face, hoping that neither Sabriel nor Touchstone's spirits had been left down there.

            As she left the staircase which slowly wound itself up into its whirlpool state once more, Lirael broke into a flat-out run.

Up ahead, she thought she saw a dark-haired figure disappear beyond the third gate, and this drove her legs into a yet faster speed, so fast that she was almost tripping up on her own feet.

            She could feel the wave gathering, ready to bowl her over and send her flying. It was too fast! She thought desperately, _I'm not going to make it!_

It was true. The edge of the wave nipped at her ankles and she screamed, pumping her arms harder.

There was the third gate! She must make it! She could barely speak the words for lack of breath, but she gabbled them breathlessly nonetheless…

            Before the current picked up her feet from behind and tossed her hard… right through the fourth gate.

Lirael tumbled forward, head over heels, over and over, her mind spinning. She did not realise that she had stopped moving until she tried to take breath, and realised that she was face down in the freezing waters. Spluttering, she lifted herself up, conscious that the small current had only carried her a little way through the fourth precinct. For this she was grateful, and took a long, shuddering breath of relief.

She walked numbly forward, almost cautiously. She had no idea how she had managed to clutch both bell and sword to her through the tumble, but both were still in her hand – though Lirael was afraid to clutch the handle – instead she clutched the gong on the inside to keep it from ringing, and, remembering what lay ahead of the fourth gate, put Saraneth away and took out Ranna instead as an afterthought.

As calmly as she could, Lirael stopped several feet away from the Fourth gate and spoke the words to unravel her only means of getting past this gate and through the Fifth Precinct.

            A dark stretch of path, a clear cut mass slowly appeared before her, offering her a safe route through the metamorphic-effect of the Fifth Precinct, whose dark and too-deep waters could horribly misshape a normal spirit and body.

Lirael was not vain, as such, but she feared this Precinct a little more than the rest for fear of the properties of its heavy waters.

Unfortunately, she had not gone far into the Precinct when a stray death spirit decided o take its chance and use her path as an escape route.

She felt it coming, her stomach knotting nervously as she held Ranna in defence position, bracing herself for the oncoming attacker. She spotted it through the murky grey air only vaguely.

It was horrible: horse-like in shape, but with dead, eaten skin, knobbly and grey-green. Its hog like face recognised Lirael as only one thing: an obstacle on its way out of death, and suddenly, without warning, it ran forward, screeching its attack in a blood-curdling scream.

Taken a back, Lirael fumbled with Ranna, but managed to ring the bell firmly in a figure-of-eight, willing the creature to sleep as she raised her sword to trace marks of peace in the foggy air.

The dead thing stumbled and tripped as its holey eyelids closed and it grunted as its mind was stilled by Ranna's gentle lullaby. It fell, right across Lirael's path and only stopped at it reached her feet, its head submerged in the black mass of water.

            But as Lirael took a step forward, she found her surcoat tail was stuck underneath the dead-flesh and, with a horrible scream she too toppled and fell….

Ahhh! Oh no! What will Lirael do now? Will she too be surrendered to the distorting waters of the Fifth Precinct?? I would tell you, but that would be giving it away…

Wild Blood Rose


	6. Sabriel Weeps

A hand flew from nowhere; catching a handful of blue robe and yanked her hard, back onto the path.

Lirael let out a short scream or surprise and let herself be pulled forward. She coughed, staring at the black mass underneath her, shaking.

She looked up, her eyes slightly blurred and blinked hard to clear them. A square-jawed, hard-eyed face. Glossy black hair that fell to her chin, and brown eyes framed in thick black lashes could be either piercing or warm. Her skin, like Lirael's was strangely pale and there was a grey tinge about her eyes that alarmed Lirael greatly.

For a moment, Lirael stared at her sister, and then Sabriel burst into tears.

'What?' Lirael whispered, cupping her sister's face in her hands.

'Dead.' Sabriel spluttered. 'He's dead.'

            Lirael's heart plummeted into her stomach, and her head was reeling. 'No.' she whispered.

'Dead.' Sabriel repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks, 'Gone. Lirael… he's gone.'

Lirael's eyes widened. Deftly, she reached forward and pulled her sister into her arms.

Shaking, Sabriel buried her head in her sister's shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably.

She uttered a cry, a sound of pure grief and despair, and Lirael shushed her, rocking her gently in her arms, tears also in her eyes.

00000

Sorry – I know its an appalling short chapter but since this is the shock I thought I'd keep you waiting. Please don't hate me for letting him go!

** sniffs **

Wild Blood Rose


	7. Lord Cronwell

Author's Note: %-- Sorry for such a short chapter last time! Hope you like this one!

'How did this happen?' Lirael was staring blankly at her nephew, Sameth. His eyes were staring through her, not looking at anything really.

Lirael sighed, exhaustion still coursing through her from last night's torment. Both Sabriel and Ellimere had become lifeless and still, neither would speak. Sameth hardly spoke either and the little words that she could coax from him were confused and disconnected. The only person she really could talk to was Nick.

She and Nick were sitting with Sam while Lirael tried to pry the story from them both.

'An attack.' Nick muttered listlessly.

Lirael sighed. 'I got that much.' She said quietly.

Nick looked at her, brown eyes searching. 'I'm sorry.' He said quietly.

Lirael shook her head. 'It's fine.' She mumbled. She felt weary and glum, and her head spiralled uncontrollably every time she tried to acknowledge that Touchstone really was dead. It wasn't right. That part of the puzzle didn't fit.

            Here, she thought she had found that family she had always lacked as a daughter of the Clayr, only to have one member struck off.

She glanced at Nick, who was staring vacantly into space.

_What I am I doing here_? She thought, suddenly. _Why I am I here? Why am I Abhorsen? What am I doing without the Disreputable Dog? I want her! I need her. _

It was then that she spotted the tiny tooth marks from where the Disreputable Dog had bitten her in her moments of wallowing self-pity. She smiled then. Through her grief and pain, a smile was pushed onto her face and she let out a small laugh.

That certainly awoke both men from their grief-ridden stupor.

'Sorry.' Lirael coughed. 'The Dog… I…'

She stopped, as she saw Sam frown in disgust and look away. Lirael wasn't used to that behaviour yet, and wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it. Her natural instinct as a recluse was to draw into herself and not talk, but of course, that wasn't possible anymore.

It was almost like being a hedgehog that finds curling into a ball most comfortable and then finding that the act discomforts them and those around them.

That was how it felt to Lirael, at least. She felt rather prickly as Sam turned away from her, looking out of the palace windows.

It was this irritability perhaps that made her snap at the servant's head that poked round the door with a swift knock.

'Beg your pardon Abhorsen, ma'am, Lord Sayre, and Your Highness. But there's someone at the door… says they want to talk to ye, Abhorsen.'

'Fine.' Lirael growled, 'Is that all?'

The servant, looking rather shocked nodded meekly and disappeared.

Lirael felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but she pushed it aside hastily. Sighing, she levered herself up and said quietly, 'I need to know what happened Nick.'

Nick nodded numbly. 'Nothing in particular really… just a bunch of (here Nicholas swore fruitfully) who once followed Kerrigor. They wanted to see his brother dead. They felt vengeful after he helped Sabriel defeat him… and of course, Touchstone not being quite the Charter Mage Sabriel is…he was a little too late to defend himself in time… somehow they froze Sabriel and left Sam for dead… he was protecting her to the end. That was when they planted the Mordaut in me. I was hiding in the kitchens, but they found me. I don't quite know how but…' he trailed off.

'How did you find me?' Lirael asked, her eyes wide, mouth half- agape.

Nick shrugged. 'I flew a Paperwing half way to where I found you… I don't really remember much other than I found it a bit like when I had a piece of Orannis in me… it was like resisting him, only this Mordaut was weaker. I didn't know who I was half the time, but I remembered you… I thought of what you told me about resisting and I did. I just thought of you and everything became a little better for my part…'

He blushed when he realised what he was saying, and Lirael adopted her old incorrigible habit of hiding under her hair she shade herself from further embarrassment.

Under her silky black curtain of hair she blushed scarlet.

'Oh.' She mumbled, rather surprised a very flattered, 'Right. Well. I ought to…see the man… you know.'

Dim-wittedly she stumbled from the room, pulled open the door and swiftly pushed it shut behind her.

What was she doing? How inconvenient could things get? Were those butterflies in her stomach something to do with the fawn eyes of Nicholas Sayre?

She dismissed the thought crossly as she marched down the corridor, muttering 'Ridiculous!'

Lirael emerged into the entrance hall, which was unusually vacant of servants.

The great, sweeping ceiling and white washed walls looked even larger than usual without the presence of thirty or more bustling servants, guards or occasional visiting soldiers. The only person, save Lirael herself that was standing in the hall was a man, tall and grand and looking around in a rather high manner, as if he considered waiting for someone an act that was below him. He was tall and handsome, his hair straight and dark, falling over one eye mysteriously. His nose was slightly crooked and his mouth a mocking half-smile. He wore a black turtleneck, which discreetly showed bulging muscles beneath the tight fabric. His boots, laced to the knee were black too, and looked to be part of his trousers too, had Lirael not spotted the sheathed dagger that was slightly prominent from his thick muscled calf.

On thick fingers he wore an array of shining jewels and draped around his neck he wore a navy velvet cloak, fur-edged and tied to him with a blue cord.

            As Lirael approached, he looked upon her imperiously, and, to Lirael's horror she watched as his gaze took in her figure: slim and tall, not quite the hourglass beauty of her niece, but quite beautiful all the same. She felt the burn of self-consciousness as his eyes flicked to her neck, and to her breasts. Her heart gave a leap as he licked his lips approvingly, an obvious flirting move, which Lirael ignored imperiously, suddenly folding her arms over her chest.

The man smiled, and Lirael saw him swagger as he walked toward her as she walked to him.

'Hello.' He breathed, eyes flicking once more to her breasts. 'I'm looking for the Abhorsen, my dear. Have you seen her?' His eyes took her in a third time, and Lirael felt naked and nervous under his stare.

Did he not recognise her as one? Presumably, he had been told she would meet him here, but even so, she could not help feeling irritated, especially as his eyes kept on taking invasive glances upon her. True, she was not wearing the bells, nor her surcoat, a quartering of both Clayr stars and Abhorsen keys, and the long red tunic was not her usual attire, but Lirael had felt rather glorious as she stepped into it, a change from the armour she generally wore, reminding her a little of her librarian's waistcoat, and a different colour to the hated blue tunic she had worn at the Clayr's glacier.

'I am the Abhorsen.' Lirael pronounced coldly to the man, cutting into to the soft clicking of his tongue he used as a sound of appreciation.

The man frowned. 'You are not Sabriel.' He observed.

'Correct.' Lirael said crisply. 'I am Sabriel's sister, er… Lirael.'

'Right,' the man said, though still his eyes would cease their pervasive stares. 'Lirael.' He smiled, bowing graciously.

'Abhorsen.' Lirael corrected, holding him in the coldest gaze she could muster. Usually she insisted on being called by her true name, but this idiot was so inappropriate she could not help being blunt.

'Abhorsen.' The man agreed. 'Please forgive me, milady, I am Lord Cronwell and I come to speak with Lady Sabriel.'

'She isn't available.' Lirael sad, making up her mind not to let this "Cronwell" stay long.

'Really, milady Abhorsen, this is quite urgent, I must speak with her.'

'She isn't in.' Lirael said quickly. 'An urgent matter she couldn't help. I am here at the palace so what ever your concern is, Lord, I'm sure you can speak to me.'

Lord Cronwell looked stunted, and then a small smile creased the corners of his mouth. 'I was told The Lady Sabriel was in. It is quite impossible she can have left within the last three minutes.'

Lirael stumbled to find her next words of attack. 'Well you can't,' she said finally. 'And I don't know if you'll be able to for a while. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to…'

There was a wail from the end of the corridor, and Lirael whirled around to see Ellimere, looking quite a state, framed in a doorframe. In an instant, she ran forward, crying, 'Cronwell!'

Lirael had barely a moment to think _what? _Before Ellimere had flung herself into the arms of the Lord, who returned her embrace, pressing her face to his shoulder.

'I'm so glad you've come!' Ellimere gasped, letting go of Lord Cronwell before turning to Lirael.

'Oh, Lirael,' she said, her voice becoming sober,

'I'm glad you've met Lord Cronwell, a friend of mine you know… he's come to stay with us until my coronation. He's also the son of Mother's friend.'

'Oh.' Lirael said cut short by the look of satisfaction on Cronwell's face.

'Come on!' Ellimere said, her voice suddenly excited, 'I'll take you up to see mother, and I'm sure Sam'll be pleased to see you too…. Oh and I have to show you…'

Her voice trailed off as she led the Lord upstairs without a backward glance. 

Lirael was left staring disbelievingly after her niece, a frown of calculating suspicious upon her pale face. 

Hmmm. What's in for Lirael next? Is Touchstone truly dead and will the Disreputable Dog rise again? You will see, my pretties. Yes. You will see.

Wild Blood Rose


	8. Mogget's Council

Lirael woke earlier than she would have liked. Typically, it was still dark, with only silvery moonlight for company. So she pulled herself to her feet, stretching a little to encourage her sleepy muscles into working for her effectively.

'Up.' She mumbled to herself.

As far as she could tell, it was far too early for her to be awake properly, and yet she was. She muttered the activation spell for the light-charter mark and it flickered into a warm, mellow glow that illuminated her bedchamber effectively enough.

In comparison to her room in the Clayr's glacier, it was an ultimate luxury, though any room to herself was a luxury in itself.

            Though she had been brought out of self-company a little by her new family, Lirael's time alone was still precious to her, and she savoured it with relish.

            Her chambers were big, and more than Lirael could have asked for, being generally happy with humble accommodation. The bathroom alone was bigger than her room back at the glacier. It had a smooth granite floor, with a bath on a stand, deep and with an endless supply of hot water. The floor was built on a hypocaust, and was always warm and comforting.

Opposite the bath was a shower that gushed out powerful jets of hot water, and next to that a wardrobe full of more clothes that Lirael could ever possibly want: though she had soon learned when the appropriate time was to wear each garment.

A deep sink with a pump offered a cool drink or a good face splashing when it was needed, and the small, mirror-faced cupboard above it was chock full of shampoos, soaps, bubble baths, flannels and sponges, among other washing apparatus.

The vanity desk in between the toilet and sink was the thing that Lirael had not once touched, finding no comfort in admiring her pale features. She had only ever used the hairbrush, finding no pleasure in the make-up contained within the drawers.

The bathroom was next to her bedchambers, which was an extravagant place: a fore-poster bed with soft, squashy pillows, mattress and luxurious linen sheets and velvet hangings. A shelf full of hundreds of various different books… most of which were Lirael's favourites from the library.

  The three most important books she owned: _The Book Of The Dead, The Book of Remembering and Forgetting _and _The Skin Of A Lyon_ lay on her candle-covered altar which stood in front of the French windows that led out onto her balcony.

The third room was her own practice room, a place where Lirael could be found practicing activities that were newly discovered to her such as yoga, meditation and Parchî – a sort of martial art that improved her speed and helped her hone in on her faults in fighting.

Now that she was Abhorsen, Lirael could not afford to neglect fighting arts, and so she trained herself sometimes by herself, sometimes with Sabriel or Sam.  Usually, she worked herself hard, using all the equipment in the practice room, but today, as she drove herself to punch the swinging sack, she found her aim was becoming poorer.

She cursed herself, and resigned to the shower, where she stood, naked, washing herself down with her hand, especially the stump where her right hand had once been as it was often itchy – a sign that her body hadn't yet caught up with the fact that the limb simply was no longer there.

            After Lirael had washed and dried, she set herself through breathing exercises, simply sitting on the floor of the bathroom, taking in breath after breath. As she progressed in the calming exercise, she pondered what had woken her. She thought over what had alarmed her about Lord Cronwell and tried to dismiss it – but she could not shake the feeling of his eyes travelling over her body – her hips, breasts and legs.

No matter how much she told herself she was being a vain or noticing things that hadn't happened, she was sure that there was something wrong with him… something not right. He couldn't have been dead or she would have noticed – wouldn't she?

_He can't be of any Free Magic._ She thought, slowly, or I would have smelt it… maybe… a Mordaut?

Lirael shuddered at the thought- what on earth could that creature be doing to her family? She shook her head to rid herself of the thought. No, Cronwell was too in-control.

            It couldn't be that. Maybe it was just her own paranoia? After losing… after losing Touchstone was she just being over-protective of her family.

_The Dog would know._ She thought miserably.

That, admittedly, was true. The Disreputable Dog _would_ know whether the Lord was to be trusted. Lirael thought for a moment, and then… she realised.

_Yrael_, she thought suddenly. _Yrael! Yes! Mogget will know… if he's willing to tell me._

She stood suddenly, picked up her towel and rubbed herself down. She wrapped her towel around herself and crossed to the wardrobe, from which she took out clothing that she would never have though to wear ordinarily.

A sleeveless vest, which hung just below her collarbone – so it would give nothing for Lord Cronwell to stare at should she meet him. The other garment was a simple pair of three-quarter length trousers, mule in colour and made of a fine, breezy fabric, which would allow her skin to breathe.

She tied her damp hair up into a scruffy bun – though it looked rather unruly was practical. She didn't think anyone would see her in the attire and was glad, mostly because she liked to be predictable. She could change once she'd found Mogget.

            After dressing, she pushed her feet into sandals that she usually wore now that it was getting nearer to summer in the Old Kingdom and walked out of her room.

'Ugh!' she said, as she bumped – straight into Nicholas Sayre.

'Lirael!' Nick said, startled, and going red, as she looked her up and down.

'Oh, Nick!' Lirael said, wondering what on earth Nick was doing outside her door.

'Did you need me for something?'

She noticed his eyes looking her over – and found that, unlike the perverted stares that Cronwell gave her, Nick's subtle eye-flickers over her form were somehow more appreciated. She still felt rather uncomfortable – but in a shy way, in a way that made her want to walk away quickly, rather in an outraged way.

'Nothing,' Nick muttered, 'I just…walking… you know. What are you doing?'

'Er…' Lirael thought about asking Nick about Lord Cronwell but decided against it. 'Um, just…walking. It's too stuffy in my room.'

'Same here,' Nick said in a too-bright voice. Lirael caught his eye and realised the subtleties in his voice were overruled by his obvious want to go with her.

Lirael, however, liked to be alone.

She began to walk on. 'Just… you know…' she turned and disappeared round the corner, wondering why she wanted him to follow.

            Mogget had his own room of preference – the living room. Of course, there was more than one in the palace, but Mogget most liked to occupy the living room in the West Wing- several hundred doors and two staircases down from Lirael's chambers. It was here she found him, curled up a cream coloured pouffe.

She prodded him awake, and one piercing green eye opened, growling its discomfort.

'I've told you before _Abhorsen_.' It mewed savagely, 'Never wake me in the night.'

'Sorry,' Lirael apologised. 'I just… needed some advice.' Now that she was here, asking advice from the collar-contained Yrael sounded stupid and foolish.

'You needed advice from me?' The cat asked incredulously. 'And here I was thinking that humans were supposed to be the cleverest beings on earth!' Lirael was not fooled as the second part was drowning in sarcasm.

'Obviously, Yrael, you are a thousand times cleverer than I,' Lirael sighed.

'Than any human.' Yrael corrected grudgingly.

'Than any human,' Lirael agreed. 'But this… this Lord Cronwell, I need to know… is he trustworthy?'

The cat eyed her with a mix of deep sarcasm and pity – pity for her stupidity Lirael guessed. 'Well, at least not _all _Abhorsens are total idiots.' Mogget muttered.

'You've got sense at least. And now that King Torrigan's gone… How does mistress Ellimere feel?' 

'I don't know,' Lirael admitted, 'She hasn't spoken to me much. Somehow, it feels like its _my _fault he's dead.'

'I will not continue this pointless talk unless you cut down on that self-pity.' Mogget growled, sounding more like The Disreputable Dog that Mogget.

'You humans are rather foolish and I don't have to tell you anything.'

Lirael frowned. Not because refusing to tell someone something was out of Mogget's character, but merely because the last sentence was rather off subject.

'I'm only asking for your opinion.' Lirael tried feebly. 'I just feel like…'

'Well, you'd be better asking Kibeth about this matter shouldn't you eh?'

'Yes.' Lirael agreed, her head drooping.

'But you can't,' Mogget said.

'No.' Lirael agreed.

'Well.' The cat sighed. 'I suppose I ought to _ask _her then.'

He kept one, half-open green eye on Lirael and Lirael got the hint.

'How can you do that?' Lirael asked.

'I have my ways.' Mogget yawned lazily. 'And I suppose perhaps its worth the bother if my free-er is in danger. As my last debt to Abhorsen.'

Mogget was talking of course, about Sabriel, and how she had freed him with Belgaer. Mogget stretched to scratch his long white neck,. And a small imitation of the tiny bell sounded – a thoughtful, helpful sound.

'You owe no debt, Mogget.' Lirael said softly. Despite the prospect of contact with her dear friend, she could not send Mogget on a quest which he did not have to take.

'I am getting too soft.' The cat growled, and a last peal of Belgaer rang before the cat disappeared into death.


	9. Cronwells' Plan

**A/N: Thankums for all your amazing reviews recently!**

The next time Lirael saw Cronwell, it was in the dining hall for breakfast. Generally, Lirael liked to eat alone, though she always accepted her family's company. Today, she was embarrassed to find Nick waiting in her regular seat. She blushed, and took the seat next to him, trying to tell herself he was only being friendly – and that she certainly had no additional emotions towards him.

Smiling, she turned to him, and for the first time in a while she looked on him properly, looking at him in a manner of romantic interest.

He had a handsome face, square jawed and interesting. He had no beard, but stubble lining in his chin and upper jaw and framing his lips. As he smiled at her heart leapt, and she was forced to look at his beguiling deep blue eyes, his straight nose and soft looking hair that jutted out over his forehead in a spiked fringe.

Lirael blushed further as he reached across her for the platter of bacon. Lirael took hold of herself, and made to reach out for the platter too and as she did, her hands ran over his. Nick put the platter down, and suddenly grasped both her hands in his.

Lirael felt her heart begin to thump loudly, and she found it hard to breathe as he leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath on her face. Her heart was in her chest, blood roaring in her ears as the hall and everyone in it became a blur around her. Suddenly, the only one there was Nick, and she found herself unable to look away and break contact with those amazing eyes.

Nick looked at her; so beautiful he thought he might cry. She watched him from beneath that curtain of long luxurious black hair and if was all he could do to restrain himself from kissing her. The thought alone sent shivers down his spine, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to steady his thudding heart.

He looked up... 'Lirael, I...' he stopped, as her eyes looked into his, and his words tripped over themselves and fled away, leaving him dumb.

Slowly, Gently he traced her lifeline with his finger, making it travel past her wrist, up her arm and flick upwards to push her hair behind her ear.

Nick met her gaze and their eyes danced. Tentatively, Lirael reached out and traced his strong jaw line with the tip of her finger.

'Nick...' she breathed, her heart leaping with excitement.

'Mistress Lirael!' a pompous voice broke the tender moment like a water-bomb, Lirael stood up suddenly her eyes suddenly meeting the black eyes of Lord Cronwell.

She flashed him a frosty smile, and was quite outraged when blindly, he bent as kissed her cheek. She let him, staring straight ahead as if it had never happened, and it was only when she realised that Nick had gone did she turn to confront her interrupter.

'Good Morning, Lord Cronwell,' she said coldly, 'I trust you had a comfortable night?'

'Very comfortable, thank-you, Lirael. Your niece is quite the hospitable one.'

Lirael had meant to snap at him, "Abhorsen!" but she found herself lost for words, her eyes wide. 'Ellimere gave her consent...?' she spluttered, speechless.

Cronwell suddenly fixed her with a very hard stare. 'No,' he said, with over-blown sarcasm, 'Of course not, it's usual in the nature of Lords to take women by force- OF COURSE she gave consent!'

Lirael felt herself blushing, 'Of course, that's not... not what I...'

'You ought to be careful of that one.' Cronwell cutting in, nodding to the West side of the hall and Lirael spotted Nick ascending the steps that would take him to the armoury.

'Yes, that's the one.' Cronwell said, 'That Sayre is not to be entirely trusted, as you should know, Mistress Lirael, one's who come back from the dead are _far _too suspicious to be given any proper attention at all.'

Lirael's head snapped back to Cronwell. 'Most who have respect refer to me as _Abhorsen_.' She snapped. 'And Sayre seems...'

'Ah, yes, they always _seem _that way..._Abhorsen_. It takes true strength of character to recognise a servant of the dead and that I ha...'

'I'm _sorry_.' Lirael spluttered, 'Are _you _an Abhorsen?'

'No, but as such I...'

'Well, Lord, as Abhorsen, I do not believe such matters lie in your hands to judge...'

she was about to add, "_and stay away from my niece_" but as the words flowed into her head to dismissed them as they sounded petty and petulant.

Instead, she turned on her heel and left the hall.

On instinct, she followed Nick, trying to put into words how she felt about him. She wanted to say so much to him... to express in some meaningful way her feelings for him, but words failed her every time and she stumbled over each, trying to voice them.

When she found herself in front of the armoury, she was surprised, but suddenly determined to do something... to express herself, and taking in a deep breath she pushed open the door.

'Oh, Sam.'

It was Nick behind the door, but Sameth, sharpening a blade on the sceer-stone – a kind of flat, round piece of rock with charter marks etched on every inch of it. Bare skin simply slid through it but if you muttered to marks for turning and sharpening the stone would begin to spin rapidly, turning hard in one direction and then the other, speeding up. Still, the rock would make no physical contact with anything until you pressed a blade to it. In a flurry of sparks and a grating of materials the rock would sharpen the blade... and it was how Lirael found Sameth now, bending over the stone, sweating heavily.

He looked up, and Lirael raised her eyebrow. 'Who are you trying to impress?' she asked, looking him over. From the waist down he was wearing overalls – ones embroided with the spade of the Wallmakers, it was a symbol Sam regularly showed off these days. It had been he who had made the sword that slewed Orannis, the destroyer.

It had been made from Lirael's own blade – a blade that she had to admit she missed an awful lot.

Sam had been sweating so much that he had removed his shirt – revealing his muscular body underneath. He had been tanned during the summer and the result was pleasing to the womanly eye. However, Lirael, being his aunt kept all these sort attractions well away from herself – especially since even the idea made her squirm.

The thing that had caught her attention was the blade he had been making – Lirael recognised it as a sword made especially for the female guards of the palace. Female's blades were made different not for sexist reasons – but because they were a lot faster than the men. It was for this reason that their blades were specially shaped and crafted.

The sword Sam was bent over now was immensely impressive, a beautifully crafted creation – a weapon that blended swiftness with scythe to create a very deadly piece of workmanship.

Lirael was mostly intrigued by the fact that it had been made for female hands.

'Who is this for?' she asked, her eyes glittering as she looked upon the deadly object.

'Oh, hello, Lirael.' Sam smiled at his aunt, then reached across to kiss her on the cheek, outside, Lirael spotted a very disgruntled looking maid who had been watching Sam work with awe. She now looked upon Lirael with jealousy. The maid didn't suspect romance between the two relations – but she definitely fancied a kiss from the good-looking prince.

Lirael repeated her question as Sam continued with his work.

He sighed, 'its for Mariias,' he sighed, looking guiltily up at Lirael.

Lirael thought for a moment, and then remembered who Sameth was talking of. A guard, tall and pretty, though very much a girl.

Lirael gave Sam an enquiring look and he sighed again. 'I know, I know, I should be thinking about Dad but... but then Lord Cronwell came yesterday and Ellimere's coronation is soon... and...'

'What?' Lirael asked, confused, 'I don't understand... I... Cronwell?'

Sam frowned at his aunt, 'Didn't you know?'

'Know what?'

'Ellimere and Cronwell have been seeing each other for years... well, on and off for a bit... after Wyverly of course I can't believe she never told you!'

'She didn't.' Lirael remarked, brushing her hair aside with her golden hand.

'Yeah... well, things have been happening. You know I've been wanting to ask Mariias for ages, but... I thought, If Ellimere's got someone I ought to and...'

He glanced up at Lirael who looked upon Sam as if she had never seen him properly before.

'Oh.'

Sameth turned his back on her to discreetly wipe a tear away and Lirael gripped his shoulder. Thinking of Touchstone brought pain to her heart too, but Lirael was far more worried for her sister than her nephew. She had barely seen her since they had emerged from death two days ago, and she felt she really ought to talk to the older Abhorsen.

In the past six months, Lirael had drawn very close to her older sister, and was extremely fond of her, but that still didn't stop the awkwardness of her situation now that Touchstone was gone... Lirael almost felt as if it would have been better for her to die than Sabriel's beloved, because she had only just come...

Lirael found this suddenly spilling out of her. 'Should I have been taken in his place Sam? I wish it had been me. Your father is more family than I've ever been and I haven't been here long...'

She found herself in tears, 'I'm sorry,' she spluttered, 'I just...I just wanted a family, Sam... I just wanted...'

Sam, who had been watching her, tears streaming down his face suddenly yanked her forward and pulled her into a tight embrace.

'Don't ever say that Lirael,' he whispered in her ear, rocking her gently as she sobbed into his shoulder, 'We love you. You _are _family...its.... its not your fault he's gone. Its not.'

These were the kindest words Lirael had heard in a long time, and she felt herself beginning to shake with grief.

'I miss her!' she cried, 'I miss her so much!'

'Shh,' Sam whispered in her ear, stroking her hair, 'I know, aunt, I know. I miss her too. But The Dog is gone. She did her brave deed. And she loved you with every ounce of her being.'

'That's what makes it so bad!' Lirael choked, her voice breaking, 'Because she loved me! _I _should have died Sam, it should have been me!'

'Oh shut up,' Sam said softly, 'Don't say things like that. This world needs you, Lirael. I need you. Our family needs you, mother needs you!'

Lirael nodded numbly, trying to pull off some of the pain that had been haunting her. 'I know.' She whispered, 'I just never had anyone love me, save the Disreputable Dog. She loved me. Even my aunt didn't love me.'

Sameth hugged her tighter. 'But your mother did. Remember that message that Mogget gave to you?'

Lirael did, and at that thought yet more tears leaked down her pale cheeks. 'Yes.' She answered finally. 'She loved me.'

'And so do we.' Sam assured her, 'You've just got to remember that.'

Lord Cronwell watched as Lirael left the armoury.

What was so special about her? He wondered, watching her. Certainly she was beautiful, and before he had realised she was the Abhorsen he had been told to spy on he had been quite determined to lay her in his bed. Of course, being Lord Cronwell, that was still his predominant wish, though her niece satisfied him in the bedroom well enough. A little inexperienced perhaps... a little hesitant to satisfy her lover – and let him satisfy her... still, he couldn't help himself. The next woman he lay with would be Lirael Goldenhand, he was sure of it, and he was not surprised when he mentioned this to Ellimere when she commented that rather _a lot _of men were pining after her affection.

Lirael was oblivious to this of course, being naïve as she was in that area of social life, but Cronwell was determined to break her in, quite against his master's wishes to size her up for killing.

_What was he thinking about? _Cronwell thought to himself as he eyed Lirael from down the corridor. His master wanted to _kill_ this woman? But she was harmless! A harmless, inexperienced Abhorsen. She would be no more difficult to murder than a chicken unlike that barbarous King Touchstone. As for Lady Sabriel, well... he would have to see.

For the moment he was desperate to sleep with Lirael before he did anything.

As Lirael rounded the corner to her chambers Cronwell sped up so he didn't miss her walking in, and was bitterly disappointed to see that bumbling fool Nicholas Sayre lurking outside her door. He watched, a mad glint in his eye as Lirael talked shyly to him, before bidding him Good Afternoon and going back into her chambers.

Much more to his disappointment Cronwell found that Sayre hung around her door much longer than was natural and Cronwell made up his mind to dispose of the infatuated puppy. Not right now, but soon there would be a time to act. His master was coming, and their surprise attack on the palace had greatly weakened the subjects – especially Sabriel for her loss.

Cronwell watched Sayre for a few more moments before turning back and sneaking back to Ellimere's room.

While he made love to the princess that night, he made up his mind when to strike.

When Ellimere was crowned Queen he would conquer this Kingdom. He and his master would conquer the legendary Sabriel and her sister. They would kill anyone who got in their way.

With one last motion Lord Cronwell felt the familiar feel of gushing pleasure wash over him, making him shiver and Ellimere moan beneath him. He withdrew himself and leaned over her, kissing the princess's pale neck and chin, breathing in her scent as he kissed her hairline. 'Marry me,' he whispered before she found his mouth and kissed it passionately.

'Alright,' she whispered back, pulling the Lord's head down onto her breast to listen to her heartbeat.

'Do you love me, Sardis?' she asked.

'Yes.' He lied, wrapping her in a muscular embrace.

She lay breathing heavily for a while before she fell asleep next to him. Smiling to himself, Cronwell sank into a dream about he would do when he ruled...

**A/N: Oh trouble for Lirael then! I hope to post the next chappie asap but I might be delayed due to the fact that I must finish my other story soon! TTFN!**


	10. The Kiss

Ellimere shook out her curls and gazed at herself in the mirror.

She lifted her chin up and pouted, a smile curling on her painted pink lips.

A hand reached out and pulled her chin down. The skin on the pale hand was rough and worn and Ellimere turned to her weary looking mother with a smile.

Sabriel looked thin. Her eyes had heavy bags beneath them, and her raven black hair was flecked with grey. It was shorter than Ellimere had seen it in a long while, reaching just below her mother's ears. Back in Ancelstierre Ellimere had seen pictures of Sabriel's schoolgirl days and it had been bobbed in a similar fashion back then.

'Mother,' Ellimere pulled her into a tight embrace, which Sabriel leant into wearily.

'Are you alright?' Ellimere whispered.

Sabriel sighed. 'No. I'm not. I won't be for a while, I don't think. I'm worried more than anything. I'm worried for you. For the responsibilities you are taking on as Queen. I'm worried for Sameth because he had yet to love. He needs to learn so much. I am worried for Lirael because she has come to this with so little... and she still seems so overwhelmed. She had not accepted yet that we love her so.'

Ellimere stroked her mother's hair sadly. 'We are more capable than you perceive mother.' She whispered gently.

'With Sardis here, I feel so.... _Safe_.'

Sabriel nodded. 'I know, my dear I know... it's just that...'

Ellimere put a finger to Sabriel's lips. 'I know, mother. You miss him. We all do.'

'And tomorrow you will take his place.' Sabriel smiled weakly. 'And there is still so much to do! And I cannot shake what may still threaten the Old Kingdom. I cannot shake the feeling that someone plans to strike tomorrow, at your coronation...' Sabriel looked at her beautiful daughter and shook herself, forcefully. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm being awful. Best to ignore me, you know, paranoid. As usual.'

'You can't help it.' Ellimere said gently. 'After a lifetime's enslavement to those bells its no wonder you feel this way.'

Sabriel went to the window and brushed her hair away from her face. 'No.' she said thoughtfully. 'It's not.'

'No, don't put it there, Yarlis!' Lirael cried, picking up the vase and handing it back to the startled servant, 'Sorry,' Lirael apologised, 'Over there if you please, on the drinks table....ah, yes, Allinel,'

A bossy, overdressed woman approached. 'Where do you need to orchestra for tomorrow, Mistress Abhorsen?'

'Oh dear,' Lirael pondered, 'I'm not too terribly sure... what about here? Maybe Sameth and I could set up a stage, and then you could entertain the guests and newly crowned Queen while we all dine?'

'Good idea,' Allinel smiled, and noted the position down, 'And what about the choir?'

_What choir? _Lirael thought wildly. 'Um, I don't know, maybe down at the great hall? Maybe the choir could sing Ellimere in?'

'Excellent!'

'Yes well – you'll have to excuse me one moment... no Cardife, please tell the trainees to leave this area for the moment?'

'I was only showing them around because they requested it!' the offended mage said, shuffling the trainee mages out, looking rather hurt.

'Sorry!' Lirael called desperately after him. She shook her head. She would have to apologise properly later.

She was just about to jump on a pair of unsuspecting ladies that were loitering in the doorway as they admired the splendidly re-decorated dining hall ready for Ellimere's coronation the next day when a voice whispered, 'Keeping busy?'

Cronwell stood right next to her ear, breathing in her hair.

Lirael stepped away purposefully and shot the Lord a warning glare. 'Yes, quite busy,' she said frostily, 'And, you? Busy? Tending to Ellimere perhaps?'

'Point taken.' Cronwell flashed her a nasty smile and Lirael sneered disgustedly. A month had gone in a flash and she still had numerous problems running about her like scrabbling mice fighting for an equal piece of cheese.

Firstly, Mogget still had not returned and Lirael, who was afraid for Yrael's spirit if it stayed in death too long, was more anxious than the rest of her family. Sam, who had no idea why she was so worried, assured her that the cat disappearing for months at a time was nothing unusual and said that he might even be resting comfortably at Abhorsen's house.

Lirael's worries still had not rested. The longer Mogget was gone the more deeply his spirit could be infected...and the longer he was gone meant that maybe Lirael could not talk to the Dog after all. The thought was heavy in her heart and she kept it there for fear of disappointment.

Secondly, Cronwell was still hanging around her and her family like a bad smell, and she had still not found anyway of proving to herself that he was truly untrustworthy, save for his inappropriate approach to her.

Thirdly – and this was the worry the screwed with her brain more than anything else was that Lirael still had not managed to pull her head around the worry that was Nick. How could she ever truly know how she felt about him? He was always there, at the front of her brain through everything. When she dressed she found herself wondering if Nick would appreciate how one would outline her hips or if she should try taking off her white headscarf. She wore the head garment out of pure habit now – there was no point in trying to make herself feel a little more like a Clayr. That part of her life was over. It was still there, but it was gone. Perhaps she ought to see what Nick thought if she wore her hair loose. Thoughts of him floated by her daily routine too: whilst she practiced with Sameth she often thought how she could wangle Nick to join them. She even caught herself about to motion him to sit next to her at dinner.

Luckily, that time he hadn't seen her, and only looked over to flash her a smile, which she always returned, somehow over-enthusiastically.

Often she walked out to one of the open turrets. There were few guards up there and they rarely disturbed her if they saw her. It was the only place she truly felt peace, a place where she could lean over the side and allow the winds to blow away her troubles.

Today was no better. Lirael felt responsibility weighing on her like a heavy brick and for once it was not the burden that came with being half of the Abhorsen. It was the responsibility of being an aunt.

Aside from herself, Sameth and Sabriel had been the hardest at work, trying to make Ellimere's coronation perfect.

Lirael still had not managed to talk to her sister properly nor had she managed to find away to tell her worries about Cronwell to Sam, who was working flat-out making sculptures and robes for the coronation.

Lirael had only been to his workshop twice since the talk she had had with him about his interest in the guardsmaid Mariias. She was disappointed to see that the sword Sameth had worked so hard on was still leaning against wall, almost forgotten...

Sardis Cronwell watched Lirael organise the rest of the preparations with mild interest. To think that she was going to all these efforts... only to have it crumble between her golden fingers.

'Pity.' Cronwell muttered to himself, but now, a day before the coronation it was time to pick off some of the more irritating members of the royal family.

Queen Sabriel could wait – her blood might be needed – perhaps. Lirael could stay alive, if she accepted to be in Cronwell's arms forever... yes. Of course she'd accept. And as for the princess...

Cronwell saw Ellimere walking over, a smile licking the corners of her mouth.

She smiled up at him, deep admiration sparkling in her brown eyes. 'Hello, sweetheart.' He whispered, kissing her softly on each cheek.

'Hello Sardis,' she hissed in his ear, tasting his skin. 'Will you come to bed?'

'But it's the middle of the day!' Cronwell smiled at her eager face.

'I know.' Ellimere giggled, 'But I'll be so tired and busy tonight at the ball... there won't be time... I won't enjoy it.'

Cronwell grinned at her. 'Of course. Come, last since you become Queen.'

Ellimere kissed him, took his hand and led him upstairs. Cronwell looked back to catch Lirael's suspicious glare and he met it with a cheesy smile. She looked away quickly, anger evident in her sudden tense posture.

_Time to loosen her muscles. _Cronwell thought.

Five minutes later, both Cronwell and Ellimere lay in tense silence, the room stuffy and hot after their intense passion.

'I'll open the windows, my queen,' Cronwell whispered in her dark curled hair.

She smiled, evidently fast falling asleep, and he touched her temple briefly, muttering, 'Sarlem.' He felt her consciousness slide away in an instant, and her breathing deepened dramatically.

'Sleep well, sweet princess.' He whispered, and dressed quickly.

Sameth went to his workshop door following the brief knock. He expected to find Lirael, come to find out if he was alright, but instead he found Cronwell filling the doorway, a smile on his handsome mouth.

'Good afternoon, my son.' Cronwell greeted him with a slap on the back.

'Hello, Sardis. Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but is it urgent? I'm rather busy.'

'Oh it's urgent, alright.' Cronwell sighed, 'Sameth, I wasn't sure how to tell you this, but are you ready to hear how your father died?'

'I know how he died, Sardis. I just... I'm sorry this isn't the right time to talk about this, I still have to make four more sets of robes for Ellimere's henchmen.'

'He died in a good fight, Sameth. That I give him. But... he was far too slow. Bit of a clumsy fighter eh?'

Something was suddenly roaring in Sameth's ears. He felt dizzy. Sick. 'W...what do you mean?' he stammered.

Cronwell picked up the sword Sameth had made for Mariias, and unsheathed it. 'Hope you made this sharp, dear lad. Wouldn't want your death to be as painful as Touchstone's would you.

Sam blinked back the tears. They were swimming down his face, a mixture of grief and pure, blinding rage.

'You.' He spat.

Cronwell nodded, a sad, sarcastic smile creasing his mouth.

He lunged.

Sameth fell.

And all went black.

'Lirael, have you seen Sam?'

Lirael turned to see Mariias, looking extremely pretty in a turquoise tunic. A sash embroided with lilies was tied around her waist, and her shoulder-length blonde hair made her rosy cheeks and green eyes look stunning.

Lirael frowned suddenly, realising that she had not seen her nephew all evening. Everyone – royals, nobles, ladies, gentlemen were gathered in the North of the castle, in the grand hall. Normally, it was the hall Sabriel entered upon her return home, and outside in the courtyard several paperwings were parked. The ball. It marked the end of Ellimere's time as a princess, and the beginning of a new ruler of the Old Kingdom. It also was a celebration of Touchstone's life.

Lirael had dressed up – if reluctantly. Both Sabriel and Ellimere had ambushed her that afternoon and forced her into a formal dress. Lirael didn't like to admit it, but she felt amazing. Her hair was loose, falling down her back and covering the exposure of skin that the dress left behind. It was as dark blue as her Abhorsen surcoat –like a handful of night sky. Thankfully though, the keys that usually flecked things that belonged to an Abhorsen were not daintily embroided onto the surface.

Made in a halter-neck fashion, it hung to her ankles, and made her look taller, and younger...She looked...

'Beautiful.' Nick whispered.

Lirael blushed as he looked at her, his eyes lingering on her face and hair most. Pearls were clasped to her ear lobes and the sight took Nick's breath away.

His heart skipped a couple of beats as she smiled at him.

'Thank-you.' She said, 'You look so handsome in that. You ought to wear it more often.'

They stood there for what seemed like hours but could only have been minutes. And then the question leaped out of his mouth that he had wanted since the dawn of that day.

'Would you like to dance?' he whispered tentatively, offering her a hand.

She took it with her real flesh and his palm tingled as he clasped her other... the golden hand. It shimmered with charter-marks and as he placed it on his shoulder and pulled her into him Lirael found that all else was a blur.

They moved with quiet, lazy steps, but it didn't matter. The orchestra that played with soft, calm strings lulled her into such security that for the first time in a long while, she felt safe. Slowly their faces glided past each other, and Lirael felt the world become fuzzy as her forehead pressed against his nose. He gently kissed her charter-mark and she felt it shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and blew out her breath.

Here. She was here. In his arms.

There, she was there, holding his hand with hers. Nick was so excited he could hardly breathe.

Carefully, they moved to he side of the room and hid behind one of the pillars. Lirael was only an inch shorter than he, and slowly he reached down. Their lips met, and slowly carefully, quietly, Lirael was taken no where that was earth.


	11. Losing

**A/N: Hey, you guys have expressed your thoughts so far and for that I am very, very grateful...**

**Caet Rae: After reading your review I went back to the last chapter and I sort –of see what you mean, but just to clarify: What I meant in saying "slowly, carefully, quietly" was more than what they were doing, it was Lirael's experience of being swept away by some unknown force, she is suddenly breath taken and far from her body, far from everything...I hope that kind of made sense to you...**

The cat licked his lips and hesitated at the cusp of the ninth precinct. It had taken him a while. He felt flat, exhausted, and a little hesitant about passing through to look up into the starry galaxy sky that shone with the light of a million spirits. He sniffed, and through the smell of hundreds that had passed this way in months, Touchstone's scent was still potent among them.

The cat yawned, stretched and gave a warning look to the swirling current that had subsided to trickling around his white paws. One impatient yowl parted the last gate, and daintily, the cat slipped through the partition that everyone at sometime went through in their lifetime, and very few went back.

The water was warm this side, and the cat, never one for any kind of water, plunged in to lounge elegantly around I the swirling light reflected by millions of stars.

Gingerly, the cat opened one eye to the stars and felt his small body lifted carefully, tested, and then layed back to the water where he floated lazily, one green eye watching disappearing spirits.

He glanced to his left and saw a young girl raise her eyes to the stars. This young one's time had come, and she left behind the warm water with gentle understanding, lifting her chubby arms upward to embrace her final death.

The cat yawned, thinking that perhaps he could sleep here forever...

'Hello, Mogget.'

The cat opened another eye, and saw a large black-and-tan dog, unnaturally long legs wading through the water toward him, sharp ears pricked.

'Oh its you.' Mogget said lazily, closing the eye he had opened and letting his body drift a little more.

A long paw was careful to flick water in his face, and he hissed irritated and sat up. The movement was fluid and quick, changing the little cat into a small dwarf, who stared up at the dog with piercing emerald eyes.

'Well, if it isn't the Disreputable Dog. What a little saint you've been down here recently. I hear you've been helping confused spirits back to life...and sending some on. Aren't you the walker, Dog? Isn't it your duty to send them _all _on?'

'It was a mistake to free you with Belgaer,' The Dog grumbled, sniffing the cat gingerly. 'You've obviously been thinking too much. It seems you're even doing favours for humans these days.'

'I do not.' Yrael remarked mewlishly, 'Unless it will overcome my debt to Mistress _Sabriel_.'

'There was no debt,' Dog commented. 'You're just gentler. I shall have to dress you in boots and call you puss.'

'Not by the dressed up buttocks of Kerrigor.' Yrael smiled mistily.

The Dog gave a friendly bark, and their verbal abuse subsided.

'What of her, Mogget?' The Dog asked, as Yrael shrank back to his cat form, with legs longer even than hers.

'Mistress Lirael is troubled.' The cat mewed, 'She wishes to speak with you again.'

'As much as I wish to speak to her.' The Dog nodded mournfully.

Mogget spat to rid the air of sorrow. 'To business, Kibeth.' He growled. 'Sabriel is the last Abhorsen, as her father foretold. You will see your mistress one last time. But you must follow the orders of... of _her._'

'And what of Sabriel, Mogget?' A new voice had joined them, and Mogget looked up from the corner of his eye.

'I thought I'd seen the last of you.' He murmured, and then purred as the big, strong hand reached out to stroke his chin.

'You're wife is nothing without you, as ever she would have been, Master Touchstone – Torrigan, even. I seem to recall asking the wallmaker for something, and he said you would bring it to me. Do you have yet of what I speak? Great evil gathers as your daughter is cornated, and only her aunt suspects. Will you help Lirael, Torrigan? Will you do it for Sabriel?'

Touchstone threw back the cloak that covered most of his body and Mogget and Kibeth beheld what was in his hand.

Kibeth blinked her brown eyes and whispered. 'Then it is time. We will linger no longer at the ninth precinct. On, and up.' She nodded to the stars and Touchstone nodded, gazing wistfully at the constellation above him, the lights twinkling in his sad eyes.

'Only when I am with her may I go up.'

'As it is for me.' The Dog whispered.

Lirael remembered the day as she woke with a start, the sheet softly falling away from her naked body. The she clutched them around her, shaking, a cold sweat hung around her, and the feeling she had been trying to shake for days closed in like a pack of voracious wolves. Today, above all days would test her. Today, something would happen that would change her life forever, and she knew it.

But aside from every part of that, last night had changed her too. She had let someone come closer to her than any had ever been before, and the thought brought tears to her eyes, made her hands shake and her breath quiver.

She wept, her body shaking uncontrollably, tears escaping her eyes without conscious thought.

She wiped them away fiercely, and felt them return, until she buried her face in her hands, sobbing and crying. She felt retched. Wrong. Last night had been so perfect. Why, today did everything have to change so inexplicably?

The man that lay next to her drew her into him, shushing her, stroking her hair, allowing her to cry herself away. Lirael looked through blurry eyes to see Nick's face, swimming with sympathy.

'Lirael,' he whispered, 'Shh, come on, what's wrong? I'm sorry I shouldn't have... I was.'

'Yes you should!' Lirael cried, fighting her urge to cry. 'We did it together! It was us! Me! You!'

'I'm sorry,' Nick whispered into her ear, wrapping his arms around her.

'So, so sorry.'

'Don't be.' She growled, knowing that she had changed. She was someone else entirely to who she had been yesterday. Yesterday she had been Lirael, who was the confused and scared sister of the Abhorsen. Today she was Lirael, the young woman who loved Nick, and was loved by Nick, and here she was crying and fearing something that wasn't there.

'Please Lirael, tell me what's wrong.' Nick said gently, pulling her hair from her face with careful hands. All he wanted was for her to be happy, and he knew it now, more than ever. Nick felt changed too. But confused. He loved her so much.

'I don't know.' Lirael murmured, gulping back a fresh start of tears. 'I just feel so different.'

'I know.' Nick lulled. 'So do I. But we won't again if you don't want it. I won't ever come near you if you don't want me to. I'd kill myself if you wish it, you only have to say.'

Lirael burst into tears again. 'I know you would.' She mumbled, sliding her arms around his neck. 'That's what makes it so awful. I don't want you away. I do want it again. I do love you.'

Her tears suddenly were gone and she drew away, her eyes red and raw and he looked at her carefully.

'I do.' Lirael whispered. 'But I'm not sure... I might need to be left alone, Nick. Something horrible is about to happen. And I don't know why or how. But it's coming. It will be on us sometime today. And I'm so afraid. What if it's Sabriel this time? What if its Sameth or Ellie? What if it's you?'

Nick was silent for a moment. 'I can't promise that it won't be.' He said quietly. 'But I love you too. There's no escaping that now, Lirael. No way out. I believe you. I'll do whatever it takes to break evil away.'

He prodded his charter mark. 'I've seen some strange things, as you have. And I still don't really understand what it is to be art of the great charter. Half a year ago, I was still ignorant of... well...everything. But I'm here. And I'll help you.'

He looked at her earnestly and Lirael managed a watery smile.

'Nick... thank you.'

'Nothing to thank.' Nick whispered and kissed her softly on the forehead. It felt strange not to go red under his lips, but that would have been yesterday... not the Lirael of the present.

She took a deep, steadying breath. 'I need you to get Sam. Don't ask questions just yet, I need to get this... the coronation has to be cancelled.

Nick's eyes widened. His stomach dropped.

'What is it?' Lirael asked.

Nick nodded to the enormous sundial out I the courtyard. It was just visible from Lirael's bed, but it was plain what the time was.

'The coronation- it starts in ten minutes!'

Lirael's stomach plummeted. 'No!' she cried, 'It can't be more than nine in the morning!'

Nick got up quickly, shoving his legs into his corduroy trousers and slipped his evening tunic he had worn last night over his head. He fastened the belt hastily and shoved his feet into sandals.

'Well, if you don't hurry, its going to happen soon anyway. Listen, I'll get Sam... you just do... Just do what you have to.'

Lirael looked at him, her eyes full of fear. She had already wrestled on the under-garments she wore before layering herself with full-armour. Quickly, fumblingly they kissed, and Nick turned to the door to wrestle hard with the handle.

'What is it?' Lirael whispered, dreading his answer.

'Bloody thing's locked!' Nick swore loudly, and yanked harder on the metal.

'Cronwell...'

Lirael's mind flashed to the previous night and how Cronwell had been flirting with one of the waitresses serving drinks at the ball – would he have had time to drug the drinks with sleeping powder?

No time for suspicions. She would have to get out, and soon. Gently, she pushed Nick aside and pressed her golden hand to the door. She drew it away as Charter Mark's sizzled, and a flurry of sparks blinded her.

She shielded her eyes and yelled, 'Harlem! Tarnet! Hoaret!'

The sizzling stopped, the sparks subsided. Lirael watched as the wood that made up the door crumbled and turned to ash, simply falling away under her fingers.

To looked at Nick fiercely, 'Go!' she growled, 'Just go!'

He nodded and turned, running away down the corridor. As he ran, Lirael could only whisper, 'Charter be with you.'

In less than three minutes Lirael had finished dressing, pulling her long dark hair up and out of the way, confining it to a length of silver cord. She briefly checked each bell, muttering their names under her breath, before she unsheathed her sword, newly shone and charter marks freshly drawn into the blade by Sameth. It was almost as good as the original: The blade claimed with Lirael's hand with the destruction of Orannis. Withdrawn, it looked deadly sharp.

Muttering charter marks for protection, health, stamina and luck, Lirael ran from the room, praying she could she could stop whatever was coming...

The great hall looked magnificent, a throne set above the rest of the seats to welcome the Old Kingdom's new queen. The hall was buzzing with excited voices, their tones relaxed. Across the West of the hall stood an oak table, set with a gold-trimmed red cloth and laid for five. Sabriel sat alone twisting her fingers in her lap. Her bell bandoleer strung across her chest looked old and worn, and Lirael wondered if her sister was nervous and where on earth Sameth was – still making fineries for the ball afterward?

Slowly she made to slip into the hall to sit by her sister and warn her... of what?

Lirael stopped dead. What was she going to tell her sister? She had a _feeling _that something bad was about to happen? What, in the name of the charter would she think of Lirael then? Lirael hung there, unsure of what to do... until a cold, hard hand wrenched her back out of the hall and pulled her into a smaller room to the side. She spun, sword raised, and found another sword whinging back to return her cutting strikes. Lirael blocked them muttering, 'Flareo!'

Her opponent fell back and Lirael was able to look at him properly. She knew in an instant who it was by the tall, masculine frame, the cocky stance and by the way she felt uncomfortable under his stare – even though she would not see his face for the long hood.

'I am sorry about this,' Cronwell murmured, 'I would have so loved for all my fine work to be rinsed down the plughole, but you see, days like this don't often happen.'

'You know something's going to happen.' Lirael said simply.

'My master was pleased with how everything went – even though it was obvious you suspected me – you couldn't really do anything about it, no? It is a shame to lose two Abhorsens in one day though. Perhaps you could stay...'

Their blades locked and both pressed down, trying to force each other to their knees.

'But I could set us out something else, Lirael, my dear. What if I...we got away? We could live with love and prosperity. Imagine, Lirael, a world controlled by dead. _Our _slaves! Of course, my master would be happy to take you under his wing.'

Lirael swung out of the blade-to-blade, swinging her sword up and left, snaking through his outstretched arm... he moved his chin aside at the last minute and her blade sliced his cheek, but did not sink up into his brain as she had aimed.

She pulled out, and began to circle, her eyes watching for his flaws. She was not prepared for his next attack. He somersaulted, landing on her chest, and knocking the wind hard out of her. She wheezed, grunted and lunged. Her fist connected his jaw and he came off her, flying backward.

His face contorted, and he suddenly yelled and incantation: one that sizzled at he spoke the words: sizzling so forcefully smoke emanated from his lips and nostrils. Free Magic floated off his tongue and flew at her, hitting her square in the face.

Lirael screamed as she felt something- some terrible perversion spirit enter her head through her charter mark – so the mark flared and made her reel as it burned her. Something was wriggling, forcing its way into the stream of her magics, trying to corrupt... to claim... to force back the charter magic in her veins. She fought it, screaming a guttural cry that vacated her lungs of any oxygen at all. She screamed again – but there was no air to feed the sound. She gagged, spat and choked, until her weakened mind began to spin.

_OUT _Lirael demanded, holding onto herself long enough to push out the Free-Magic spirit, out she pushed, and her world still whirling, Lirael saw the first gate...

_NO! _she cried, _no. No. _

Her eyes opened, she inhaled.

Cronwell stood over her. 'I could make you happy.'

She allowed herself breath after luscious breath, - so she was literally breathing life back into her body.

'And I will rule?' She whispered.

'Yes.'

'We will... love?'

'Each other, yes. You as my wife. You to bear my children.'

'Yes...'

Gently, he reached down and took hold of her soft, pale hand, carefully; he pulled her to her feet.

'Us. Together. Put behind you the Abhorsen. Be with me.'

Lirael took a deep breath, her fingers suddenly inches away from her dagger.

Slowly she withdrew.

'Oh Cronwell, I just... I'

She lunged, he dodged and pirouetted out the way, coming to land four-legged on the floor. He grabbed her sword raised it above his head and ran forward yelling, 'You _will _be with me!'

Lirael rolled, and he tripped as she plunged through his legs. She leaped up in time to rake the dagger down his back and his scream was muffled as he fell. Lirael leaped and drew the dagger across his neck.

'Mistress Lirael.'

Lirael turned, her eyes full of rage.

'I see you have killed my servant. Well done. You can rest now Abhorsen. You're task is over. Time to end this silly battle at last.'


	12. Battle

Panting, Lirael stood tall, eyes glaring furiously. She shook her head to flip her bangs out of her eyes, and the silver cord slipped away and left the sheet of raven-night hair to tumble down her back.

She raised the knife, her eyes narrowed upon this new stranger.

'Careful Abhorsen,' the voice hissed, a high, nasal sound that made Lirael bare her teeth, and her eyes flickered from one corner of the room to the next, trying to manipulate the man to move out of the way. She now had the chance to take the stranger in, she soaked up every detail. A pale white face, hideously scabbed and flaky. A long nose, and a line for a mouth. The irises and pupils of his oval-shaped eyes were hidden under the shadow of the hood. His robe was like a monk's and swabbed the ground with thick, grey material that looked to be made of sack-fibres. In contradiction to Lirael's keys and stars, the robe was dotted with an array of gold padlocks and silver moon-crescents.

One long, pale hand slipped down a loosely hung sleeve and withdrew a long, glistening blade, and it took Lirael a moment to recognise the glistening to be powerful charter-spell, such as one that had encased her own Nehima when it had been made to slay Orannis.

Lirael's eyes wavered, and then came to rest upon the hooded face. Her lips curled, and she bent to retrieve her sword from the unworthy white grip of Cronwell, whose eyes stared blankly at the slate floor.

'What do you want?' Lirael whispered, raising both weapons, her eyes watching for the slightest advance in powerful movement.

Cronwell's blood dripped down the dagger and onto Lirael's hand. She yelped and dropped the blade. The blood had _stung _her.

'Yes, that blood on your weapon is tainted. I daresay you ought to wipe it.'

Lirael did cautiously, using Cronwell's black robe for a cloth, her eyes watching the newcomer all the while.

'Well, I suppose I ought to thank you.' The pockmarked skin stretched as the man spoke and Lirael shuddered.

The man continued, oblivious. 'If you hadn't killed the Charter-Cursed fool, I would have had to myself. Glad to see you spared me the job.

'He killed Touchstone.' Lirael whispered, her voice broken and raw from the unprotected charter-magic she had performed.

'Not without my aid.' The man muttered bitterly. 'Stupid, undeserving arse. He could never kill the King alone. Of course, he couldn't kill Sabriel...her own defences are surprisingly strong, as are your own, young Abhorsen.'

'What are you talking about?' Lirael spat, 'What do _you_ want with my family?'

The man laughed, a bitter croaking sound.

'Family, Lirael? Is that what they are? People who have known you six months only are your family?'

Lirael held her head high. 'Yes.' She said proudly, knowing this more now than ever. Sam had re-assured all fear that perhaps her family did not want her.

The man shrugged, and, in a sudden, swift movement, arched the blade high over his head and then about himself in smooth-cutting movements.

'I hope Sabriel does not disapprove of her circumstance in dying.'

'What do you mean?' Lirael asked, eyes suddenly wide.

She was suddenly aware that someone in the hall next door had screamed, and following that, an uproar of noise. The feel of the dead was suddenly overpowering, and Lirael cursed herself in panic: how could she have not felt them?

'My minions have their way with a large crowd,' the man cawed, as Lirael prepared to wrap herself in charter magic.

She whispered them about her body, and the world blurred. In not two seconds Lirael completed the teleportation and the world around her refocused gently, and the shock to her ears was suddenly hard, and she stood, finding herself in the hall. She sat up, and had to quickly lie down again as a man tumbled over her.

The hall was in uproar, and Lirael turned, taking in the chaos with wide, disbelieving eyes. The doors, tall as the hall itself had been wrenched apart, the wood in splinters and what remained of the doorframe ruined and crumbling to give wave to hundreds of dead pouring into the hall. The congregation – generally not people who went around without weaponry were fighting back, but Lirael saw freshly dead bodies, and felt a window from the river itself close by.

Her stomach dropped as she thought of the Charter-stones, and prayed for their safety. They could not be broken again. She stood, and a dead hand spotted her movement, leaping upward to cry with a guttural moan.

Lirael brought spelled sword and dagger up to slice through rotten flesh and the Hand screamed as she decapitated it's head.

The familiar peal of Saraneth called her, and Lirael turned so swiftly her hair flew about her. There, she saw Sabriel, perched on an upturned altar, wielding the bell high above her dark head, pushing her hands around the mahogany with expert ease. Several of the Dead Hands swarming towards her stopped in their tracks and Lirael unbuckled her own bandoleer with ease. In an answering call she targeted all the weaker members of the hands and felt their spirits leave, the ones around Sabriel dropping to the floor. Sabriel looked to her sister and smiled in relief. Lirael ran to her and Sabriel halved the distance between them by jumping from the table.

'Where is Sameth?' Sabriel called, shoving her blade through a stumbling dead nearby.

'I don't know!' Lirael called back with desperation, 'I sent Nick after him. Sabriel! Cronwell betrayed us... he and his master planned this... I.'

She saw tears in Sabriel's eyes and the pair were momentarily forced back to back to fend of a surrounding crowd of Hands, whom they sent back to the river with several loud peals of two Kibeth bells.

'I prayed it wasn't so,' Sabriel whispered, 'But we are lucky, so far. Ellimere has not arrived.'

Lirael looked at her in warning and Sabriel read it.

'Go.' Lirael said firmly, 'I shall stay. Perhaps I can ward off the dead for long enough to evacuate the Lords and Ladies.'

Sabriel nodded, withdrew Ranna and began to fight her way out.

Lirael turned back to the battle and met the dead with a flurry of deadly-sword swipes and blows.

_Lucky so far, _she thought grimly – _Only Dead Hands. What happens if one of the greater dead is here? What happens when the Shadow Hands come? _

'Hurry, Mogget, Touchstone,' The Disreputable Dog turned her head and shook away silvery drops of the grey water than had condensated on her fur.

Mogget was pouncing forward elegantly, Touchstone panting as he waded the river.

'Its alright for you,' he grunted impatiently, heaving his legs through the back-pushing current. 'But you have longer legs. Above all, I am Dead. The dead should not walk this way.'

'And yet you are.' Mogget observed, green eyes glittering.

'Do hurry up, Torrigan. Find something in you that drives you forward. I cannot stand that stupid mutt bettering the two of us in a simple uphill climb.'

'Uphill battle, is more like it.' Touchstone grunted, 'Not to mention this.' He nodded at the Wallmaker's gift. We must put it's use together at the first precinct. It needs the final...'

'Yes, I know!' Mogget spat, 'Now hurry along or we'll leave you behind.'

Nick stumbled up the stairs to Sameth's workroom with considerable speed. Panting, he gripped the handle with slippery hands and forced it open.

The room, wide, and unruly, buzzing with Charter Magic was too big, in Nick's opinion, and searching the room, he stumbled upon Sameth, almost tripping on him as he called his friend.

Sameth was white, a large, bloody wound on his head, his curls encasing the wound protectively.

'Sam?' Nick whispered, pulling his friend's body up quickly, searching Sameth's pale face for signs of life. His friend glittered with Charter Magic, and Nick shook him, feeling sick.

'Sam please don't this.'

Nick clenched his eyes and prayed Sameth was fine.

He touched the charter-mark on Sam's forehead, and it glowed briefly, to Nick's immense relief. He almost collapsed on his friend.

'Come on, Sam,' he muttered, pushing the curls away from the wound, which sparked blue. Nick recognised the colour for protection, as the charter-mages had taught him, and realised the protection had been dented.

'Oh, bloody hell!' Nick cried, 'I'm not a bloody doctor!'

He gazed at the wound, screwing up his eyes, and touching his own charter mark carefully. He still did not know the properties of the mark Lirael's dog had christened him with, only that it was there, and that his immediate dismission of magic was gone, and he knew it as well as he knew the importance of the name 'Sayre'.

He thought of Lirael, and it tortured him to think of her, down there... venerable with that ogre, Cronwell lurking...

Nick wiped a tear away and gazed at his best friend.

'Please, Sameth,' he whispered, 'Come on. Come back to me.'

Gently. Nick pressed his forehead against Sam's.

It felt as though he were leaning down a well, and he felt sick as dizziness and disorientation as the charter buzzed around his ears.... Endless.

Unconsciously, Nick depicted symbols he had no recollection of seeing. But somehow... he knew. Slowly they formed a chain in his mind, and dizzyingly, all symbols clicked effortlessly into place. Nick swooned and fell away.

Recovering himself, he blinked away the pressure spots that lurked at the edge of his vision and rubbed his throbbing temples.

Gingerly he looked Sameth over, and saw that the wound had been reduced to a swelling no larger than a mosquito bite. Nick gazed in wonder.

Sameth opened his eyes.

Lirael felt his presence at the back of her mind, and, wrenching her sword from the Dead flesh it had just slaughtered, she swung around to face the grey-robed demon.

Her eyes danced on his masterfully spelled sword, and gasped, coming forward to him.

'Are you sure this is wise, Abhorsen?' the voice bore traces of mockery, and Lirael glared, dark eyes boring into her enemy.

'I do not know the ways of the wise.'

'No, you don't.' the man agreed, 'That is why the Clayr rejected you. No befuddled brains such as yours could ever be accepted there.'

The taunt stung slightly, but Lirael did not rise to it, she kept her face impassive, making the tip of her blade trace lazy circles as she readied for attack.

The man's unnaturally thin mouth flickered into a smirk and carefully and he took on the common start stance that commenced a duel.

Lirael sank back on her left leg, ready.

The man launched, blade slicing through the air too quickly to see, Lirael blocked, the movements jarring her flesh hand, and nimbly, she swapped to her golden hand, and came away, her hand retrieving her dagger and flinging it at the man's chest.

The blade struck with the crack and thud of driven flesh and bone, and Lirael stood back.

She gasped in horror as the man smiled again, and merely plucked the dagger from his chest and tossed it aside.

'Skilful.' He applauded softly. 'How are your techniques?'

Lirael came forward, forcing him back with harsh uppercuts of the sword blade, constantly trying to catch the hilt and sent it flying from the man's corrupted flesh. He smiled and forced her back, hard, making her golden handwork with constant twists to stay away fro the flashing blade.

The man finished his attack and Lirael did not hesitate to cut hard across her shoulder. To her horror, a dead, scabbed, hideous arm fell to the floor, crumpling and turning to ash.

The man hissed in anger, 'You will pay for that, Abhorsen.'

Lirael said nothing, nor had she the time to do so as the man came at her furiously punching the air with harsh swipes.

A sibilant free-magic hiss echoed from the bizarre lips and out escaped a trailing spell that gathered and then flew at Lirael, small blades which etched small cuts along her arms and torso. Lirael banished them with a mastermark that further burned her throat.

'Give up, Abhorsen.' The man hissed.

'Never.' Lirael croaked.

The man sneered.

'I have had enough.'

His fingers snapped. And Lirael felt free-magic spark inside the sound. She stumbled as her head suddenly reeled and with faint brushing of leather, she felt her bell bandoleer fall to the ground at her side.

'No.' she whispered.

Dead Hands encased her, dead flesh gripped her. Lirael smelt grim, rotten flesh, and, as her head was forced upward with the tug of her hair, Lirael looked up and saw the eyes behind the hood in full light. Her stomach swelled and her lips trembled violently- aftermath of the magic she had worked.

'End it, Abhorsen, eh?'

A voice murmured. Slowly, it dawned on Lirael that death was near. With the slip of the hand, she had fallen into this...

Lirael gazed into the eyes.... Colourless, bland. Rimmed in the grey of the river.

As some feeling encased her, as her armour was slowly pierced with the tip of a sword, Lirael saw the entrance to the river. A song echoed out from it's mouth, the strangest song... so familiar. Such long, passionate tones.

Lirael's vision swam as she identified the source of the noise.

Yrael was singing again.


	13. The Last Abhorsen Departs

Kibeth stood, eyes on the barrier that separated her from life, and her mistress. Behind came Mogget, dragging Touchstone with him, who looked pale and worn. The struggle up the river had been terrible. He had been twice thrown back through the fourth gate – prone to stumbling or going too slowly in the waves from the third precinct.

'Are you ready, yet?' she snapped, looking back briefly at her companions, 'I sense fatality is near if we do not end this.'

The two of them nodded, eyes bright and faces drawn. Touchstone especially looked sombre and dull, the mist floating off the river swirling around him, making him look spectral and grim.

'By doing this...' he whispered, 'I send her to death? I will not do this if she has no choice but to be surrendered to the river. Even if I have to wait...'

The Dog woofled, brushing her nose comfortingly against Touchstone's shoulder. He smiled wistfully.

'You cannot help not knowing. You will do what you must.'

Mogget nodded, and then yowled, 'Enough. Time to end this. The last Abhorsen will rest at last. Mistress Lirael will be healed.

The Disreputable Dog sniffed excitedly. 'Master Nicholas did exactly what I planned. He gave her someone else to love.'

Mogget nodded solemnly, before becoming once more the albino dwarf, his alarming green eyes strange in the dim light. Reaching up, he snatched the Wallmaker's gift from Touchstone's hand. 'We will perform the rites. It will be my time at last.'

Silently, the three congregated around the gift. Mogget stroked it, his eyes wide. From beneath the wispy white beard, a whirring purr escaped. Mogget opened his mouth, and slowly, gently he let out a long, high peal of music. Touchstone recognised it from the binding he performed.

'Ranna sends her blessing!' he yelled to the river, 'She recognises the gift to Lirael Goldenhand!'

Ellimere watched her mother stumble towards her, and ran to her, eyes wide and fearful. Sabriel's leg was bent awkwardly under her stagger. Her face creased in agony, her teeth gritted, her hair matted with blood and dirt.

Ellimere ran to her, allowing her mother to forward, months of needlework and careful material selection ruined as blood leaked onto the clean white silk.

Horrified, Ellimere ripped the side down the hip, allowing herself free-er movement.

Sabriel coughed, and more blood escaped her mouth.

'Mother!' Ellimere cried, tears streaming down her perfectioned face. Sabriel reached up, stroking her daughter's curls.

'Ellie.' She whispered.

'Ma, speak to me, please don't go after Dad, please, look, I'll heal you!'

'They got me, Ellie, they surrounded me... I couldn't... couldn't.'

'Hush,' Ellimere sobbed, her hands sweeping her mother's form. Deep cuts, thick black bruises, internal bleeding.

Ellimere swore, over and over, her mind sweeping the charter for marks of healing and cleansing. She worked fast, her mother's life slipping precariously out of her grasp.

'NO!' she shouted, her hands fumbling to create the marks, and she forced them to function. Swiftly, she drove infection from her mother's body, helping the skin to knit quickly.

'Mum, listen to me.' Fiercely, she held onto her mother's face, half-formed charter symbols lingering in the air.

'Stay. Don't you DARE leave me now.'

She cursed, wiping tears from her eyes stubbornly. 'OUT!' she ordered the bruises. The clotting subsided and the blood sank back into the veins.

'Its too late, Ellie,' Sabriel whispered huskily.

'Something greater demands my life. I will stay with you for a while longer...'

Sabriel's eyes turned to a presence over Ellimere's shoulder, and she looked, her eyes red and raw.

Sameth stood, his eyes full of tears, fingers clasping and unclasping. He shook, eyes blazing. Nick approached behind, his eyes fearful and full of sorrow.

'Sam...' Sabriel coughed.

Sam threw himself to his knees and turned to face Nick, 'please,' he begged, 'Go and find Lirael, quick. She needs...'

But Nick was gone, running down towards the great hall.

Ellimere and Sameth turned to their mother.

'Here,' Ellimere whispered, 'Help me heal.'

The song was everywhere, filling every crevice of her being. The sword retracted from her armour, and, far off, Lirael heard growling.

Her vision cleared, the darkness separated like curtains on a stage. Lirael fell forward, choking back bile.

The white-skinned man was gone. In his place, only a grey column of light glowed, similar to an unbound Mogget, though without real form. A white ring formed a steady barrier around the being, and looking closely, Lirael saw flashes of those hideous eyes in the mass of grey. The ring, evidently, was Mogget, whose song she heard now, filling her with unquestionable strength, her heart beating fast and thick. She stood up, suddenly aware that the dead claws had unleashed her, and looking about her, she saw the dead bodies scattered here and there, frightened by yet another source of strange, black and brown whirl of colour, with little mass. Lirael found herself crying.

Thick and fast were her tears, uncontrollable, unbearable pain filled her chest and she fell to her knees, Mogget's song great but her own spirit dampened.

A wet nose touched her ear and Lirael cried harder. The feel of whiskers on her cheek.

'I love you,' said the Disreputable Dog, and suddenly, Lirael was brought back to herself by a heavy mahogany... something being dropped heavily into her lap.

She fell back, feeling a mahogany handle... unfamiliar... too big in her hands.

She looked up, and Touchstone stood by her, the Disreputable Dog beside him.

Lirael's voice was long gone, only tears and yells were audible above Mogget's cry.

Touchstone went to his knees and hugged her to him, his whisper suddenly loud in her ear.

'I'm sorry I must take her from you. But the Dog will stay 'til your time. Remember, Lirael, your family loves you. We all love you. Remember.'

His hands found hers, and placed them firmly over the object in her lap.

Lirael sobbed.

She looked down, and saw the eighth.

Yrael stopped singing and the white form filled the inside of the object in her hands.

Under Lirael's golden hand was the last bell. The Eighth Bell. Mogget's bell. Larger even than Astarael, the bell was the size of a cannonball, the charter marks that made it swimming gracefully across the surface of the wood and silver.

Lirael stood, the Dog's fur close to her normal hand.

Glowing with Mogget's spirit, the last bell rang true and clear, the peals escaping Lirael's hand in a chain of crystalline sound. The dead were instantly slaughtered: their bodies simply turned to ash, and the departed spirits found themselves inexplicably looking at the silvery constellation of the final precinct. Not a soul in the world was free of the sound, and ash collected everywhere as all the dead departed from the life of which they did not own.

Free of the initial notes, Yrael rang out clear, and Lirael's ears bled, her fingers stung under the power.

The dog bit her leg, keeping her in life.

The three looked up, and Sabriel's healed body gave a small smile of inexplicable satisfaction.

Touchstone reached down and took he hand, gathering his children to him for one last embrace.

'Dad....?'

Sabriel turned to her children. 'The eighth bell has rung.' She whispered. 'I am the last Abhorsen. The prophecy is complete. I love you. I always will. Tell Lirael... tell her that she is always loved.'

Sabriel reached up, and took her husband's hand.

Touchstone kissed his son's cheek and then his daughter's.

The last Abhorsen departed.

The last bell rang.

Lirael closed her eyes and let Nick run to her. Let him take her in his arms.

A wet dog nose tickled her face.


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

Lirael stared at the giant bell.

A year since it had rang – and here it remained. In this open-temple, exposed to the winds of the Old Kingdom, forever a reminder of what had been. The last bell of the seven. Quietly, Lirael sat facing the charter-marked marble altar on which Yrael, the eighth bell was placed, cushioned in navy velvet. As if pondering something, Lirael tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

A wet nose brushed her cheek and Lirael turned to stroke the dark fur of her best friend the world had ever gifted her with.

Lirael smiled as a warm breeze blew in from the East, a wind full of the spicy promise that autumn neared them all.

'Do you think they're all gone, Dog?' she whispered. 'All the dead? The bell... when I rang it... it felt like it would never stop until it found every one. It rested all it found. I know that now.'

The Dog sniffed and woofed as her mistress scratched her ears. 'I'm not entirely sure.' The Dog said gently. 'To my knowledge there will always be dead... death and such in the Old Kingdom. It would seem so strange not to.'

Lirael nodded. 'But I have not seen a single dead soul since last March. I really do think Yrael rested the most of them for good.'

The Dog sniffed, and nudged Lirael with her nose. 'Is it not something you wanted?' she enquired. 'Is it not a relief, to have the majority of your burdens removed?'

Lirael smiled, and her heart rose a little.

'So much has changed, Dog.' She whispered. 'I just don't know. I'm not sure of much any more. I just don't understand... I think... yes. If I'm not the Abhorsen-In-Waiting anymore _or _the Abhorsen – then... what am I?'

'You are Lirael Goldenhand.' The Dog replied, confidently. 'You are the aunt of the Queen and her brother. You are the lover of Nicholas Sayre and the mistress of me.'

Lirael smiled and kissed the dog's snout fondly.

'I know.' She said, and then sighed. 'I just wish Sabriel were...here. I wish I'd known her better.'

'She loved you.' The Dog assured gently, 'that is all you need to know. Mistress Sabriel would have always been the last Abhorsen... your mother saw it, long ago, so I was told. Your father told Sabriel this when the job first burdened her shoulders.'

'I think she knew,' said a new voice and Lirael turned to smile up at her nephew.

'Knew what?' she asked softly.

'I think that, all the while, she remembered what her father told her. Dad told me about the adventures they had when they first met... and there was a time when Kerrigor nearly killed her...and she thought it was her time. It wasn't. The Abhorsens of the past came to her and turned her back, telling her that the time of the Last Abhorsen was not then.'

Lirael's head drooped. 'It's so unfair,' she whispered, 'All her life she had the burden of the protection of the entirety of the Old Kingdom...'

'As did all other Abhorsens,' the Dog cut in. 'Don't waste your pity, Mistress Lirael, Sabriel did as all others before her did – she rested the dead. No other Abhorsen could have denied their blood-sent task. It was her Gift.'

'She's right, Lirael,' Sameth agreed, 'Mother never once regretted what she did. Never. Because she knew who she was – and she was happy.'

Sameth's re-assurance was strong, and Lirael nodded, suddenly satisfied.

She stood up, and he put his arms around her briefly. The Dog sniffed her fingers.

'How's Ellie?' She asked, watching as the sun melted into the sky – stretching her rays up to cast orange and crimson tides on the land around, the shadows lengthened, and the hills glowed with some ethereal blessing. Lirael cast her senses and was not surprised to find no dead nearby.

'She's fine.' Sameth whispered in her ear, and Lirael turned to rest her head on his shoulder. 'Good.' She smiled to herself. 'Mariias? Is she still arranging a date?'

'The Fourteenth.' Sameth murmured proudly.

Lirael smiled and went to Yrael's final gift to the family to which he was for so long tied to. Her hands found the charter marks and they glowed instantaneously. Lirael thought she heard a mew.

As the sun went down and Sameth went to find his fiancée, Lirael and the dog stood and watched the closing night sky, slowly, carefully, the blanket of star-embroided night was laid over the vast Old-Kingdom skies.

The Dog sat in between Lirael's legs and turned her head to look at her mistress. Lirael stroked her absently.

'Happy?' her dear friend asked, watching her with wide, dark eyes.

'Yes.' Lirael said with some surprise. 'I am.'

END

A/N: Ok, ok, I know that was a bit of a take from the Sabriel ending but I really couldn't resist – did you like it? I hope you're all satisfied about how I ended, and for all queries concerning the issue of Sabriel being the last Abhorsen: read the book! Hehe. I thought I'd end with a happy note: a dead-free Old kingdom. However that doesn't mean to say there isn't plenty of Free magic Beasties about! Who knows... I may return to this someday.

**For now though, **

'**Does the Walker Choose The Path, Or The Path The Walker?' **

**Wild Blood Rose**


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